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He Lifted the Inert Body and Bore It Carefully 
Through a Breach in the Wall. 




IN THE 

TENTH MOON 

BY 

SIDNEY WILLIAMS 

il i 

Author of 

“ ¥*he Body in the Blue Room ” 


Illustrated by 
HENRY PITZ 


> 

> 



THE PENN PUBLISHING 
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 

1923 

(VfQ/M ^ 




7 Z« 


c>- r* A 

i T 




COPYRIGHT 
1923 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 



In the Tenth Moon 

Manufacturing 

Plant 

Camden, N. J. 



Made in the U. S. A. 


JUN 20 ’23 


©Cl A7 0 5 8S5 

*v 5 r / 








CONTENTS 


I. A Hand in the Darkness ... 7 


II. 

The Thirty-Eight in the 
fonier .... 

Chif- 

35 

III. 

Just a Scrap of Paper 


51 

IV. 

The Panel Cerebrates 


66 

Y. 

Through Abraham Hurwicz 


89 

YI. 

A Fruitless Interview 


99 

YII. 

The Gage is Given 


112 

VIII. 

Trail of the Black Euby . 


130 

IX. 

An Unfortunate Essay in Chivalry 

143 

X. 

Officers and Outcasts 


162 

XI. 

And Leila Eides 


190 

XII. 

At the Head of the Stairs 


203 

XIII. 

Doctor Maury Takes a Hand 


225 

XIY. 

Skurling Eevealed . 


254 

XY. 

A Dash in the Dusk . 


290 

XYI. 

The Close-Up 


304 





In the Tenth Moon 


CHAPTER I 

A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 

“ Br-r-r-r ! Br-r-r-r! ” 

“ Yes, Pm coming. I’m coming,” the old butler 
muttered, fumbling his waistcoat buttons, released 
for the evening’s ease, a little in his haste. 

“ It’s late,” he grumbled, “ for her bell.” 

He put away his spectacles, and straightened his 
tie. 

“ Br-r-r-rr! ” 

“ What’s the hurry, I’d like to know.”' 

With little sighs and half-articulated complaint 
he pushed open the pantry door, and started cau¬ 
tiously up the dark back stairs. No lights in the 
hall above. He felt his way along. What was the 
matter with everything! As he gained the upper 
level a gouty toe came into sharp contact with a 
newel post, and he paused a moment with an im¬ 
precation. 

u Carlin.” 

The voice stiffened him like a cold spray. 

7 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Yes, Madam.” 

A little light came by a slightly opened door on 
the right, and a few yards down the hall. A 
woman’s figure was silhouetted as she stood there. 
Though vouchsafed no vision of her dimly seen face, 
Carlin knew her voice as that of the wife of the 
elder son of the house, Mrs. Frank Slayton. 

“ It’s got a lot in it that she don’t let out,” a 
parlor maid once said, endeavoring to describe a 
certain effect of habitual self-repression. Carlin 
admired her for it, without seeking a reason, for he 
was a butler. 

“ There is trouble, Carlin.” 

Her voice was a trifle higher-pitched than usual, 
but well controlled. 

u Yes, Madam.” 

“ Mr. Slayton is hurt.” 

“ What shall I do, Mad-” 

She checked the word on his lips. 

“ Telephone to Doctor Gordon.” 

“ Yes, Madam.” 

“ And the police.” 

Carlin flinched. 

il Ye-es, Madam.” 

“ At once, Carlin.” 

“ Yes, Madam.” 

He spoke to her back. The door closed behind 
her, softly, leaving him in darkness. Groping for 
a switch in the wall, he turned it twice in his nerv¬ 
ousness, with an effect like that of a passing search- 

8 



A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 

light. Then he turned it again, and the hall was 
flooded with sudden light. 

He blinked once, twice, thrice. For shrinking 
against the wall near Mrs. Slayton’s boudoir door 
was her maid, Marie. 

“ What’s it all about, Mary? ” Carlin demanded, 
regaining the hauteur of a major domo. 

“ I don’t know.” She spoke confusedly. “ I was 
feeling my way in the dark.” 

“ Br-r-r! ” 

“ She’s calling me again,” Marie observed, edg¬ 
ing past the butler. “I was up-stairs with 
Bachel.” 

The boudoir door closed again, so quickly Car¬ 
lin’s somewhat aged eyes could detect nothing 
within; and he was left alone. 

“ At once,” he repeated to himself, as he walked 
stiffly to the telephone. The usual delay with late 
night calls attended, and he pursed his lips in dis¬ 
approval. 

“ Yes. Very important. Police,” he said at last, 
when a rather sleepy “ Hello ” came to his ears. 
He awaited results, full armed in dignity. Pres¬ 
ently he spoke again—punctiliously: 

“ Yes, the police are wanted. I can’t say w r hat 
for. Mistress’s order. Yes. This is Mr. Jacob 
Slayton’s house. On the Avenue. . . . No. I 
can’t say. I am informed Mr. Frank Slayton is 
hurt. Wanted at once. Yes.” 

Carlin hung up the receiver with a certain dig- 

9 


IN THE TENTH MOON: 

nity. Even with, things he was ceremonious. Then 
he looked up and down the hall. It was quiet, and 
warm, and still. The same as usual, yet somehow 
not the same. ... He looked at the door of the 
green room, occupied by Mr. Frank Slayton, at the 
door of the blue room that was Mrs. Slayton’s 
chamber. And at the door of the dressing-room 
between. 

Of what was behind them he had no sign. With 
a half incredulous shake of his head he began 
thumbing the pages of a pocket memorandum. 
The desired number found, he took up the telephone 
again. This time he was brief, with no accent of 
condescension. 

“ This is Carlin, Doctor Gordon. Could you 
come at once? Yes, sir. Mrs. Frank Slayton’s 
request. An accident to Mr. Slayton, sir.” 

The doctor’s voice came briskly from the other 
end of the line. “All right. I’ll be there within 
fifteen minutes.” 

Now Carlin pocketed his dignity to do an un¬ 
professional thing. Carefully — but vainly, he 
listened outside each of the three doors of mystery. 
Not a sound rewarded him. So he carefully rose 
with readjusted dignity, and straightened his tie. 
As he went down the stairs, to await prospective 
arrivals at the front door, all the prestige of the 
Slaytons was incarnate in his person. 

It was not long to wait. He heard the gong of 
the police patrol as it turned the corner, and saw 

10 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 

it stop near the steps from his place at the window. 
Out jumped a sergeant and tw T o burly roundsmen. 
Before he could admit them Doctor Gordon’s 
car stopped by the opposite curb. And, bag in 
hand, the doctor himself hastened across the 
street. 

“ What’s this? ” he was saying as Carlin opened 
the door. “ A police case, too! ” 

“ They sent for us,” the sergeant said. 66 That’s 
all I know.” 

The doctor turned to Carlin inquiringly. He 
was a tall, thin man, and prematurely gray, with 
brilliant blue eyes that often emphasized a slightly 
mocking look. But their expression in that mo¬ 
ment was deeply serious. 

“ What is it? ” he asked the butler. 

“ I don’t know, sir.” One might have thought 
from Carlin’s solemn manner that he spoke by or¬ 
der, non-committally. u I’ve just orders, sir, to take 
you all up-stairs.” 

Silently, after brief hesitation in which the offi¬ 
cers gave way to the man of medicine, the four 
followed Carlin to the floor above. He knocked at 
the boudoir door. At the summons it was opened 
promptly by Marie, who stepped aside for them to 
enter. Only as Carlin moved to follow the others 
she closed the door quietly, but decisively, against 
his outraged face. 

Mrs. Slayton rose as they stood at the threshold. 
A woman strikingly beautiful. The officers of the 

11 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

law probably would have preferred a more robust 
type, bad they been in tbe least intent upon fleshly 
impressions. Her bair of tbe shade of beaten 
African gold was loosely coiled, and secured in a 
way that revealed its opulent abundance with a 
great silver pin. A robe of black, bordered with 
dark fur and belted with a curious Eastern girdle, 
loosely wrapped a figure of medium height and 
slender strength. Thus the pallor of her skin, with 
the hint of warmer ivory, was accentuated. And 
the mystery of eyes darkly blue. 

“ Come in,” she said. And the four entered. 

“ Frank is hurt.” She addressed Doctor Gor¬ 
don, with a slight gesture toward the half-open 
dressing-room door. “ In there. Will you look, 
please? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

There was more than professional interest in the 
doctor’s mind as he passed the threshold of mystery. 
For he knew something of cross-currents in the 
Slayton mansion. But his air was none the less 
professional; even as professional as that of the offi¬ 
cers tramping stolidly at his heels, with a glance 
at Mrs. Slayton like the irresolute look of a dog 
wondering if it may bite. 

She did not follow them with her eyes. But when 
the feeling of their presence was past she lifted her 
right hand to her throat with a quick, sharp pres¬ 
sure, as if she would stifle an impulse to shriek. 
But her face, save for a feverish light in her eyes, 

12 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 


retained its mask of cold composure. Seating her¬ 
self before the dying fire in the grate, she gazed 
steadfastly at its embers. 

What went on in the room beyond? 

The doctor and the policemen gazed at the body 
before them. Before they touched it, professional 
and lay mind united in the conclusion that life w r as 
extinct. It wore the indefinable look of life’s de¬ 
serted mansion. 

In evening dress, what remained of Frank Slay¬ 
ton lay on the dressing-room floor. He had fallen 
on his left side, about half-way between the w T all 
and the hall door. His clothing was neither torn, it 
seemed, nor soiled. Nor was there any evident dis¬ 
arrangement of furniture, or any sign of a strug¬ 
gle. At first sight, hardly a trace of blood. But 
he was as dead as one of the Incas. 

Death had come from behind, probably without 
warning. A shot to the base of the brain, and fired 
at close range. There were slight powder marks on 
the skin. Stooping the doctor noted how blood had 
stiffened a red rug on which the head lay. And he 
also saw a scrap of paper nearly hidden by the left 
thigh. 

Then Doctor Gordon acted on impulse. It was 
his theory that impulse seldom leads one astray. 
Still crouched by the body, he seemed to listen with 
questioning interest to something outside the hall 
door. The three policemen, standing about like un¬ 
easy mastiffs, looked and listened, too. 

13 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Do you hear anything out there? ” asked the 
doctor. 

As one man they moved to the door. 

“ You look down the stairs,” he heard the ser¬ 
geant say. 

With a swift movement, yet careful lest he tear 
it, he drew the scrap of paper from under the body, 
and devoured its written content: 

“ You get me the invitation, or there’ll be trou¬ 
ble -” 

Unsigned, and seemingly unfinished. A woman’s 
scrawl. And to it clung the scent of geranium. He 
thrust it into a coat pocket as he heard the officers 
again at the door. 

“ Find anything? ” he said to the sergeant. 

“ Nobody there. How about you? ” 

“ Murder.” 

The doctor rose, and carefully brushed his knees. 

“ Shot, and killed. Must have died almost in¬ 
stantly. 

“ Any elue? ” 

Stooping again to the body, the doctor raised the 
lid of a hooded eye. Its expression was peacefully 
glassy. 

“ I don’t find a thing,” he observed. 

“ I guess,” said the sergeant, “ I’ll take a look 
around.” He moved toward the dressing-room 
door. 

“A moment, please.” The doctor raised a de¬ 
taining hand. “ Let me prepare the widow.” 

14 



A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 

Mrs. Slayton stood with, one hand on a table, 
waiting. 

“ I am sorry to say,” the doctor announced 
gravely, “ that Frank is dead.” 

“ Yes.” 

The word came with tense steadiness from 
scarcely parted lips. 

u And it seems ”—the doctor hesitated to finish 
the sentence—“ that he was murdered.” 

There was no wavering in the erect figure. 

“ I thought so,” she said. 

Now the sergeant, who had followed close behind, 
intervened. 

“ If you have any clues, Ma’am, time is valuable,” 
he suggested. 

“ I will tell you what I know. But it is very 
little.” 

There was neither fear nor aversion in her voice. 
Neither pride nor supplication. She spoke as one 
might speak of something remote, impersonal. And 
the man of medicine feared it was the unnatural 
calm of one near the breaking point. 

“Won’t you have something to brace you?” he 
asked. 

She shook her head. 

“ Then at least sit down.” 

The sergeant pushed forward a chair, so that she 
sat with the light of a reading lamp full on her 
face. It was the first sign of the law conducting a 
criminal inquiry by process of elimination. A mo- 

15 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


mentis silence followed. Then one of the rounds¬ 
men coughed expectantly. 

“ I hardly know,” she said, u how to begin.” 

“ Just give us the story of the evening,” the 
sergeant urged. “ In your own way.” 

“ It is such a strange story, you may find it im¬ 
possible to believe. I only do because it is my own 
experience.” 

u We find strange things,” said the sergeant 
sententiously. 

“ Not so strange as this. . . . You want the 
story of the evening. I suppose that begins with 
dinner. We dined alone.” 

^We’?” 

“ I mean my husband and myself. There were 
no guests. And other members of the family were 
absent. . . . Afterward w T e played a while at 

cribbage. It was not very diverting to either of 
us. For I,” with a slightly apologetic expression, 
“am a very poor player. . . . Then I read a 

while, and my husband was busy with some papers 
at his desk in the library. The story wasn’t much 
more interesting than the game. So I went up to 
my boudoir.” 

“ Where was your husband then? ” asked the 
sergeant. 

“ I left him sitting at his desk. . . . When 

I went to my room I made my toilet for the 
night.” 

“ Have you a maid? ” 


16 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 


To Doctor Gordon it seemed the sergeant’s ears 
somehow pointed like those of a terrier. 

“ Yes.” 

“ She was there, I suppose. All right. Go on.” 

“ Marie brushed my hair. Then I sent her away. 
I was not in a mood to sleep. So I tried another 
book, not much better than the first one. ... I 
think I must have grown drowsy. You know how 
it is sometimes, when you are not quite sure if you 
have slept a bit? ” 

It was the doctor who answered: “ Yes, we know 
how that is.” 

“ Thank you.” 

She gave him a look of gratitude, her first sign 
of sensitiveness. 

“ I don’t know just what it was. A slight sound, 
or maybe the feeling one sometimes has of a strange 
influence near by. Whatever it was drew my eyes to 
the door opening from this room into the hall. I 
thought I saw the knob turn a bit. And I was 
curious enough to investigate.” 

“ You were not frightened? ” 

Though he put it as a question, the sergeant’s 
tone was more skeptical than interrogative. 

“ No,” she answered quietly. “ I have never been 
a timid person.” 

After brief silence, in which she seemed to await 
further questions, she went on. 

“ Now this is the incredible. So strange, I my¬ 
self almost wonder if it really happened.” 

17 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


The sergeant was licking his lips, like a dog that 
has relished a hone. 

“ I opened the door to darkness,” she said. “ In 
the surprise of it I stepped into the hall. It was 
perfectly quiet, and I felt my way along toward 
the electric switch that is only a few yards, as you 
will see, from my door. I must have almost 
reached it when a cloth saturated with something 
was suddenly and violently pressed over my mouth. 
And an arm about my shoulders forced me against 
the wall.” 

“ You called for help, didn’t you? ” the sergeant 
suggested. 

“ No. For I couldn’t. The man was too strong 
And the chloroform began to work.” 

“ How do you know it was a man? ” 

“ Surely, that is simple enough. By his strength, 
by the feeling of his hand and arm,—his clothing, 
the whole feeling of personality.” 

She regarded her inquisitor patiently. 

“ And how did you know it was chloroform? ” he 
pursued, professional skepticism again overcoming 
him. 

“ I know its odor and effect. I nursed two years 
at a base hospital in France,” she explained. 

Doctor Gordon, who had been standing with an 
elbow on the mantel over the fireplace, listening 
with eyes on the embers, turned to the sergeant 
with a look of irritation. 

“ Don’t you think,” he asked acidly, “ that Mrs. 

18 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 


Slayton may be allowed to tell her story in her own 
way, without this cross questioning. She is not on 
the witness stand, is she? ” 

“ No,” said the sergeant respectfully, suppressing 
a natural inclination to bluster. “ Just tell it in 
your own words, Ma’am.” 

She looked at the doctor with a flicker of grate¬ 
fulness, and clasped her hands a little tighter as she 
resumed. 

“ I knew I was losing consciousness, but could do 
nothing to prevent it. . . . Then it came. I 

can’t tell how long I lay there. It must have been, 
I suppose, only a short time. For in the last two 
hours it has all happened. . . . When I came 

to I was lying on the hall floor. And it was still 
dark and quiet. At first I didn’t know where I 
was, or what had happened. Then it came to me,— 
what I have told you, and all I know now. . . . 

I managed to rise, and reach this room. The very 
chair I am sitting in now. I felt faint and dizzy, 
as one does after inhaling chloroform. So I called 
to Frank.” 

“ Meaning-? ” the sergeant interjected. 

“ My husband, Mr. Slayton.” 

She hesitated, and the doctor noted a slight 
movement of her shoulders, as of a suppressed 
shiver. But her voice kept its coldly even quality 
as she resumed. 

“He didn’t answer. So I summoned energy 
enough to rise, and look for him. I thought per- 

19 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


haps lie was in his bedroom, and had not heard me. 

. . . When I stepped into the dressing-room I 

saw him lying there on the floor. I spoke again, 
and he didn’t answer. Then I thought he had been 
treated as I was, and hadn’t recovered from the 
chloroform. I got smelling salts. But of course 
they did no good.” 

“ Did you realize then what had happened? ” 

Again the sergeant’s instinct of investigation 
overcame his promise of silence. 

“ No,” she said. “ But I knew it was something 
of a serious nature. I couldn’t get his pulse. And 
there were blood stains in the rug under his head. 
At first I didn’t see them in the red of the pattern. 
. . . Whatever it was, I could do nothing. So I 

rang for Carlin to summon aid.” 

“ It didn’t occur to you, under the circumstances, 
to telephone yourself? ” the sergeant asked. 

“ No, it didn’t.” She looked at him wdth a tinc¬ 
ture of surprise. “ I did what seemed to me a per¬ 
fectly natural thing.” 

“ And what made you think of the police, 
Ma’am? ” 

“ No definite reason. Except that it seemed what 
I ought to do. I had been attacked; and my hus¬ 
band was hurt by someone.” 

“ About what time did the attack on you hap¬ 
pen? ” Before she could answer the sergeant looked 
at his watch, adding,—“ It’s about midnight now.” 

“ I can’t be precise. But just before I stopped 

20 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 


reading I looked at my wrist-watch. It was a little 
after ten then. It may have been a half-hour later 
when I started to see if there was anything wrong 
in the hall. But I can only guess.” 

“ Who was in the house? ” 

Now the sergeant was more businesslike, and less 
deferential. The doctor regarded him with uncon¬ 
cealed irritation. He opened his lips to speak, but 
suppressed his protest. 

“I cannot tell,” Mrs. Slayton replied. “But 
Carlin knows.” 

She pressed a button in the table beside her. 
Then they waited—it seemed to them very long. 
Less rapid than their heart-beats, but moving with 
unwonted alacrity, the old butler’s feet were bear¬ 
ing him upward from the pantry. It was a matter 
of minutes, but two or three, before he entered with 
his almost priestly air. 

His mistress acknowledged his appearance with 
a passing glance. 

“ These gentlemen,” she said quietly, “ would 
like to know who has been in the house to-night, 
Carlin. I have told them you are the person best 
qualified to inform them.” 

“ Yes, Madam.” 

The butler turned to the sergeant with a pre¬ 
liminary cough. 

“ The servants are in attendance at a party. All 
but Mary, and Rachel. And ”—Carlin’s pause was 
indicative of the gap in rank—“ myself.” 

21 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


61 Where are Mary and Rachel? ” 

“ This is Marie.” Mrs. Slayton lightly touched 
the arm of her shrinking, sweet-faced maid. “ And 
Rachel is a chambermaid.” 

“ I was with her up-stairs.” The maid’s voice 
was hardly raised above a whisper. 

“ Have her down,” the sergeant said. “ Who else 
has been in the house since afternoon? Any of the 
family? ” 

“Mr. Slayton—Mr. Jabez Slayton has not re¬ 
turned from his club. And Mr. George is out.” 

“ They’d better be sent for.” 

“ Excuse me, Madam.” Carlin turned to his mis¬ 
tress, subtly deferential again. “ I took the liberty 
of doing so.” 

“ Thank you, Carlin. That was very thoughtful.” 
She spoke gently now, with a certain tenderness. 
“ And did you reach them? ” 

“ Mr. Slayton was at the club, Madam. He will 
be here presently.” 

“ And Mr. George? ” 

“ I’m not quite sure. He said to call Mr. Struth- 
ers, if anyone wanted him. I did call, and he 
wasn’t there. Harry,—Mr. Struthers’ man, said 
they expected him soon. So I left a message.” 

“ Thank you, Carlin. You have done all you 
could.” 

The butler’s grateful bow ushered in a minute 
or so of electrical silence. Those in the room might 
have posed for a tableau. Two policemen by the 

22 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 


door, with the superfluous look of chorus men in 
opera. Mrs. Slayton sitting at the table, where the 
full light fell upon her mercilessly, yet revealed no 
tremor, or quick change of startled blood. At her 
elbow the maid Marie, shrinking yet staunch. Car¬ 
lin, with his look of one at once affronted and ap¬ 
prehensive. The doctor, with a certain air of 
studious detachment. And the sergeant stroking 
his chin, as one brooding deeply. 

“ Did your husband have a revolver? ” 

The head of danger, like the red crest of running 
fire, rose suddenly on the horizon. But Mrs. Slay¬ 
ton seemed merely thoughtful. 

“ I don’t know,” she said after a moment’s medi¬ 
tation. Then she qualified her statement. “ But I 
remember now I have seen one on his dresser.” 

“ What calibre? ” pressed the sergeant. 

“ I can’t say. I never examined it. And I know 
nothing about firearms.” 

Her inquisitor pondered. 

“ How did it sound when he was shot? ” he finally 
asked. 

“ I think I told you that I heard no report.” 

“Well, then-” the sentence perished on his 

lips. For there came a knocking, a rather impera¬ 
tive knocking, at the door. 

“ Come in,” said Mrs. Slayton in a voice so low it 
did not carry to the one without. 

With a hasty stride the doctor reached the door, 
and opened it wide. 


23 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


A young man of slightly dishevelled appearance 
stood there, returning the glances of the party with 
interest. 

“ What’s all the row about? ” 

No prompt answer forthcoming, he pursued his 
inquiry. 

“ What are the police doing here? ” 

“ Frank is killed,” said the doctor bluntly. 

“ Dead! ” as if the word were wrenched from him. 
He stiffened, and turned pale. Then, with a slow 
look, he turned to his sister-in-law. But Mrs. Slay¬ 
ton was no longer looking at him. Her eyes seemed 
fixed on some conjured vision. She did not 
speak. The others, too, were silent. Then, with 
obvious effort, he jerkily resumed; a double ques¬ 
tion : 

“How did it happen? Why didn’t you let me 
know before? ” 

He addressed Carlin now, and spoke impera¬ 
tively. 

“We did our best, sir. You may remember you 
told me to telephone to Mr. Struthers’ apartment, 
if anything important came up.” 

“ Did you? ” 

“ Yes, Mr. George. And Harry, Mr. Struthers’ 
man, said they expected you soon.” 

“ I did intend to. But I didn’t feel like playing 
bridge. So I came home.” 

“ About what time was that? ” 

The tip of the sergeant’s tongue, like the tail of 

24 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 


a little snake, moved rapidly across Ms lips. The 
only remaining son of Jabez Slayton regarded him 
with seeming curiosity. 

“ About ten o’clock, I guess. I don’t know ex¬ 
actly when. Didn’t look at my watch.” 

“ Where did you go—I mean what did you do, 
then? ” 

Young Mr. Slayton stood a little straighter, and 
red came to his cheek. Seeing him in profile, the 
doctor noted a suggestion of the granitic quality of 
old Jabez, who still bore the impress of strenuous 
victory in his deeply-seamed face. As yet his 
younger son had only a good fellow’s reputation. 
Men liked him, and women, too, for a certain ami¬ 
able frankness, and the candor of gray eyes that 
habitually seemed bent on smiling. Now they were 
rather cold and very steady; and the forward thrust 
of the head brought out the long, strong line of the 
Slayton chin. And he seemed taller than the five 
feet, ten inches or so with which the yardstick 
credited him. 

But if he was displeased at the manner of the 
sergeant’s questioning he did not show it in his 
voice. He answered courteously: 

“ You ask where I went. In the house, I suppose 
you mean. Nowhere but the library, until I came 
here. I sat down to look at the London Sporting 
News . But I didn’t get far in it. I woke with it in 
my hand.” 

“ Didn’t you hear any disturbance? ” 

25 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Not a thing out of the common.” 

“ But your brother was shot.” 

“ So I learn—now. Naturally, I was not listen¬ 
ing for a noise of that sort. And I was on the floor 
below toward the rear of the house. Also I was 
asleep. . . . Probably,” he added reflectively, 

“ it was the motor of your patrol wagon running 
outside that roused me.” 

His explanation sank into silence. Mrs. Slayton 
looked up. For a moment her eyes were on his face. 
Then she looked away again. His eyes unwaver¬ 
ingly engaged those of the sergeant. 

“ Well,” the officer asserted, “ there’s a murderer 
somewhere about. But we make no headway in 
finding him.” He closed his note-book with a snap, 
and thrust it into a breast pocket. “ I’d like to go 
over the house.” 

“ Let me show you,” George Slayton said 
courteously. 

They went out together. And Doctor Gordon 
followed them. Last trailed the two roundsmen, 
after a moment of uncertainty in which they looked 
at Mrs. Slayton, who seemed unaware of their ex¬ 
istence. Leaning slightly forward, with folded 
hands, she looked steadily at the cooling ashes of 
the grate. She gave no sign of consciousness of the 
inquiry below. 

Led by young Mr. Slayton, the party went down 
the broad front stairs, and turned left, past a man 
in armor, and an old Spanish cabinet, to where a 

26 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 

shaft of pale light marked the library door. It was 
partly open as they went in. 

Now the sergeant took precedence. Staying 
those behind with a gesture, he took a brisk obser¬ 
vation. Nothing in that much repaid him. A 
reading lamp was on, apparently as George Slayton 
had left it. And a London weekly, probably 
dropped in sleep, lay on the floor near by. On the 
table a pipe, the usual supply of tobacco and ac¬ 
cessories, paper and pens, a few magazines—the 
miscellania of such places. Mentally checking 
them off, the sergeant peered into the shadows. 

“ Can we have more light? ” he said curtly. 

61 Certainly.” 

Slayton stooped to a button, and a cluster of 
lights in the ceiling burst into bloom. 

“ Ah!” 

With the word the officer strode to a window be¬ 
hind the desk and a few yards distant. It was 
open, almost to the full extent of the lower sash; 
he leaned out to see what was below and beyond. 
Some six feet from the ground, it gave on a passage¬ 
way between the Slayton house and the equally im¬ 
posing, glumly ostentatious dwelling next door. 
Somewhat shaded by trees, a light across the 
Avenue accentuated its shadows with feeble rays. 
As the sergeant swept it with his eyes, to where it 
met a mysterious area in the rear, a furtive cat was 
all the life it revealed. 

“ How long has this been open? ” he asked. 

27 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ I opened it,” Slayton explained, “ when I sat 
down to read. It was pretty warm.” 

“ And you fell asleep? ” 

“ I thought I told you that.” 

“ Sound asleep? ” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t at the same time awake, 
taking notes.” 

“ You wouldn’t have heard anybody climbing 
in?” 

“ See here, Sergeant, what’s the use of asking 
such questions? I thought you were looking for a 
clue to my brother’s murderer.” 

The hound of the law ignored young Slayton’s 
manifest resentment. 

“ So I am,” he said imperturably. “ You never 
know what’ll turn into something.” 

He walked to the window again, and took another 
look up and down. 

“ So far’s opportunity is concerned,” he observed, 
“we don’t need to look further. Any lively man 
could climb in there. And with you a-snoozing he’d 
have his chance to kill, or steal. Maybe both. We 
don’t know yet if anything is missing from the 
house.” 

“ What’s that? ” 

“ A little accident,” the doctor explained. “ I 
carelessly knocked a glass from a corner of the 
desk.” 

He stooped to look more closely at minute pieces 
shining on the darkly polished floor. Ho one noted 

28 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 


that before the glass fell with a tinkling sound he 
had lifted it to his nose, and appraised the dregs of 
its contents with a swift breath. For a few seconds 
afterward he regarded Slayton with a certain 
curiosity. 

“ Well,” the sergeant suggested, “ let’s go on 
back.” 

Once more the little procession silently ascended 
the stairs. But this time Carlin did not lead. 
With a feeling of personal injury, even of affront in 
what had befallen, he laggardly brought up the 
rear. 

Young Slayton knocked at the boudoir door, and 
opened it, on receiving a call,—“ Come in.” His 
brother’s widow still sat by the fireplace, with its 
cheerless ashes. There was no sign that she had 
stirred in their absence. 

“ One thing we have found out, anyway,” the 
sergeant announced. 

Her eyes questioned him. 

“ How somebody might get in,” he continued. 
“ There’s an open window on the ground floor. 
Jones,” with a sudden sharpness to one of his men, 
“go back and lock it. We might have another 
crime in the house. There’s plenty of light-fingered 
and heavy-handed gents about.” 

The roundsman addressed went out silently. The 
sergeant produced his note-book, and moistened his 
pencil on his tongue. 

“ Now, Ma’am, is there anything missing? ” 

29 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ I haven’t investigated.” 

“ Suppose you take a look.” 

She stepped to her dressing-table, and inventoried 
its scattered treasures. 

“ I miss a diamond pin I wore at dinner,” she said 
presently. 

“ Describe it.” 

The sergeant’s pencil was poised aloft. 

“ Just a simple circle of diamonds in a gold set¬ 
ting. Good stones, but far from the best.” 

“ Is that all? ” 

“ So far.” 

Opening a drawer in her dressing-table, she 
turned over its contents. 

“ What about your ruby ring? ” George Slayton 
suggested. “ You wore it in the afternoon.” 

“ Yes, that is gone, too.” She looked at her hand, 
as if still in doubt of its absence, and glanced again 
over the jewels before her. 

“ Describe it.” 

Now the sergeant was warming to his work. 

“ It was a rather heavy ring. A ruby set in 
diamonds—four of them. And the ruby has a black 
speck near the base.” 

“ That would be easy to identify.” 

He wrote “ black speck near the base ” carefully. 

“ Are you sure that’s all? ” 

“ I think so. At least, there’s nothing else I 
know 7 of now.” 

The sergeant closed his note-book, and tucked it 

30 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 


away. And with the act his manner changed. He 
spoke now with a trace of the police official’s cus¬ 
tomary accent of intimidation: 

u Where’s the cloth they chloroformed you 
with? ” 

“ Here.” 

She turned to take it from the table, holding it by 
her finger-tips. With equal care the sergeant re¬ 
ceived it, holding it cautiously under his nose. 

“ Sure enough chloroform. And must have been 
pretty well loaded.” 

He held it up to the light. 

“ No laundry mark. And no initial. Thousands 
of handkerchiefs like it sold every day. I’m afraid 
it won’t help us much. But you never can tell.” 

Carefully folded, the handkerchief was added to 
the contents of a capacious wallet. The sergeant 
took another observation, and punctuated it with, 
“ Well.” He would have added, “ I guess we’d bet¬ 
ter be going,” but the sound of a motor came to his 
ears. He listened, and the others with him. 

They heard the engine shut off, the slam of the 
door. And, since a boudoir window was open to the 
warm night air, the rasp of boots on the doorstep, 
and the sharp tapping of a stick came to their ears. 
Then a door under the window was closed with a 
certain decisiveness. 

“ Who’s that? ” asked the sergeant. 

“ My father, I think,” George Slayton answered. 

He did not go to meet him. Only Carlin, regain- 

31 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


ing his customary slightly pompous air, left the 
room. The others stood there in silence. It was 
but a minute or tAvo they had to wait. Then an im¬ 
perative rap on the door. 

“ Come in,” called Mrs. Slayton. 

Evidently permission was unimportant to the one 
without. With the words on her lips the door was 
opened. And what remained of the Slayton family 
became complete. 

“ Did you get a message, Father? ” George asked. 

“ Yes,” snapped Jabez. 

His cold gray eyes inventoried the little group. 
It was a look that had caused many men to shiver. 
And his shaven cheeks were like corrugated iron. 
One might have thought he had come as a steel 
king, not as a bereaved father. 

u What’s this I hear? ” he demanded. 

“ Frank is dead,” said the doctor laconically. 

“ It can’t be true.” 

“ It is true.” 

The doctor met his contradiction, harsh with an 
undertone of anguish, in gentle firmness. 

“ But I left him well.” 

“ It’s murder,” said the doctor. 

Jabez turned to his remaining son. It was a 
piercing look he gave him, a deliberately sustained 
inspection. George flushed, but did not wince un¬ 
der it. 

u So you’re all I have left now,” his father said at 
length, and turned to the doctor. 

32 


A HAND IN THE DARKNESS 

u Where’s the body? ” 

“ In here.” 

After him marched Jabez, with the air of one 
outraged, not crushed. Without a word to the 
widow of his elder son he left the room. If she was 
affected by his behavior, she did not show it. But 
it was discussed by the policemen as they went 
down the steps. And, passed on to his superiors by 
the diligent sergeant, it bore on a development of 
the Slayton case. 

For a moment George and his brother’s widow 
were left together. No words were spoken. But 
stooping, he touched with gentle fingers her bowed 
head. Then the doctor reentered. 

“ Father-? ” George questioned. 

“ Has gone to his rooms. And you’d better fol¬ 
low suit.” 

“ But there are things to do.” 

“ Nothing for you. I’ll attend to everything.” 

“ If you don’t mind-” 

“ But I do mind. And you’ve got to. Here.” 
From his bag he took a small phial, and shook two 
tablets into his palm. “ Take one of these in a little 
water. And now get to bed. You’re done up.” 

Still he lingered. 

“ Good-night, George,” said Mrs. Slayton quietly. 

“ Good-night, Leila.” 

She did not raise her eyes as he slowly left the 
room. Not until she heard the door close softly 
behind him. Then for the first time the doctor saw 

33 




IN THE TENTH MOON 

in her set features how she struggled with a heavy 
strain. 

“ You have been very brave,” he said. 

“We must bear the inevitable.” 

She spoke as one noting a simple fact. 

He did not at the moment sense anything curious 
in her statement. She had slightly turned away, as 
though more fully to commune with herself. And 
he, to check brooding upon what must be mon¬ 
strous, began gently to prepare her for certain pain¬ 
ful requirements of the law in cases of doubtful or 
obviously violent death. 

Soon the undertaker’s men came on their dolo¬ 
rous mission, transporting what was mortal of 
Frank Slayton to the private morgue. Then the 
doctor, too, departed, leaving the house in darkness. 

Within its silent walls Jabez slept, being very 
old and stoical. But his son’s widow looked with 
burning eyes into the shadows. . . . And 
George Slayton kept a secret. 


34 


CHAPTER II 


THE THIRTY-EIGHT IN THE CHIFFONIER 

Another morning. 

When Carlin appeared to collect the papers dew 
was yet fresh on guardian lions that flanked Jabez 
Slayton’s steps. But, early as it was, the reporters 
of evening papers swarmed there to amplify the 
morning news. 

Carlin repelled them with difficulty and a 
jammed thumb. Then he disconnected the tele¬ 
phone, which had been ringing with unheeded per¬ 
sistence since crack of dawn, and bore his booty to 
the pantry. The cook was there, with other ha¬ 
bitues of the early conference below stairs; and one 
arrival they viewed with astonishment. 

“ Couldn’t you sleep, my girl? ” said Carlin to 
Rachel, the chambermaid reported as having been 
with Mrs. Slayton’s maid, Marie, that fateful hour 
of the evening before. Rachel only shook her head. 

“ Tell us something,” importuned the cook, who 
was comparatively new to the household, and 
thought no more of the Slayton heir’s death than 
of the demise of any other presumably rackety son 
of great wealth. “You must know a little about 
it.” 

“ If you know what I know, there’s no need of 

35 



IN THE TENTH^MOON 

my telling it to you,” Bacliel observed, and would 
say no more. And it is not on record that tbe 
police and lawyers, armed with authority, bad bet¬ 
ter luck with ber in later queries. 

Tbe officials suspected Mrs. Slayton's maid, 
Marie, held something back in devotion to ber mis¬ 
tress. But Rachel was a puzzle. A big girl, with 
auburn hair and a wide mouth, and a rare capacity 
for silence. She only listened in tbe pantry pow¬ 
wow that followed. 

Reading papers before tbe family was not a safe 
habit for servants in Jabez Slayton's household. 
But for once Carlin threw discretion to the winds, 
with scattered sheets. Soon his kingdom was agog. 

In every morning daily of New York,—even, it is 
safe to say, the foreign sheets of the swarming East 
Side, the Slayton murder was a first-page spread. 
More conservative members of the press were con¬ 
tent with black type. But those virtuous journals 
consecrated to interests of the poor revelled in red 
ink and pictorial display. 

There was the Slayton mansion on the Avenue. 
The Slayton house at the shore. Jabez's modest 
home at the time of his marriage; even his alleged 
birthplace on English Dartmoor. Frank Slayton 
in an infantry captain's uniform, and George on a 
polo pony. Lack of Leila Slayton's photograph was 
no bar to display. With a caption,—“ The Enigma 
of the Case,” they beheld her name affixed to the 
likeness of a Spanish lady with downy lip. 

36 


THE THIRTY-EIGHT IN CHIFFONIER 


“ Slumgullions! ” said Carlin resentfully, and 
crumpled the page. What he might have added re¬ 
mained unknown. The sharp ringing of George 
Slayton’s bell diverted his attention. 

“Up after midnight,” he grumbled, “and hard 
at it again early in the morning. . . . Now 

straighten out here-” to the other servants. 

Young Mr. Slayton was disclosed to Carlin’s eyes 
somewhat haggard but composed. He took his 
coffee and eggs as usual, the while he viewed in 
silence sensational embroideries of the press. Only 
he stepped heavily on one blatant sheet when he 
rose from the table and ground it as if he would 
crush the writer under his heel. 

Then he went down-stairs, and began a careful 
examination of the hall and library. If he had a 
special object in view, the possibility that some¬ 
thing else might turn up was not overlooked. 

It was not until he raised the window shades a 
little higher, for a second general survey of the 
room, that anything rewarded him. It was caught 
in the fringe of the library portieres. A monocle on 
a silken cord. From the height at which it hung 
one might guess it had been caught and detached 
from someone’s waistcoat pocket in entering or 
leaving the room. 

Taking it into the full morning light by a win¬ 
dow, Slayton applied the monocle to his left eye. 
Now he closed his right eye to get a better test. It 
was a powerful lens of unusual grinding. George 

37 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


took note of its curious whorls. He was still turn¬ 
ing it in his hand as he went hack to his rooms. 

Mrs. Slayton did not come down that day. Even 
Carlin did not see her. To Doctor Gordon she sent 
word she was grateful for his interest, hut in no 
need of his aid. Only Marie was with her. And to 
Marie she was both sun and moon. 

Before sunset old Jahez had made a new will, 
and endowed a hospital. Thus the eminent attor¬ 
ney called to draw the instrument whetted the in¬ 
terest of reporters who picketed the house, even to 
its cellar windows. 

Truth to tell, in its first phase the Slayton case 
thinned out rapidly as a newspaper sensation. 
Police and reporters were equally at sea. Even city 
editors,—those men gifted in writing a volume of 
fancy from a scrap of fact, turned elsewhere in 
weariness. . . . But the “ Big Thing ” did 

break. And of the case’s eclipse we speak in weeks, 
—not months. 

Silly as it may seem, a Ouija hoard gave the police 
the clue to their start. An evening newspaper had 
it first. Thanks to a constant reader who called 
with a supposed message from the spirit of her 
husband,—in this life a policeman. 

“ Look in Her Second Bureau Drawer 99 

That was the message. To the police “ Her ” 
meant Mrs. Slayton. No other woman had ap¬ 
peared in the case. 


38 


THE THIRTY-EIGHT IN CHIFFONIER 


“ What do you say? ” queried the superintendent, 
who took no stock in spirits, but was sensitive to 
criticism. “ Anything might be worth trying. The 
papers are giving us hell.” 

“We’ve got to show a little life somehow,” ob¬ 
served the chief of inspectors. And he went forth 
in person, with two of his men. 

It was a time of day when most women of the 
seldom idle rich are at a matinee, or shopping, or 
perhaps lingering at one of those lunches where to 
see and be seen is quite as important as delicacies 
consumed. Leila Slayton was engaged in none of 
these. Nor was she mourning as ritual prescribes. 

She was sitting at her boudoir window, looking 
out into the park, where sunlight played, and frisk¬ 
ing squirrels and children mocked her mood. For 
weeks seeming like months she had lived under the 
harrow of unspoken, and thus the more intolerable, 
suspicion. And her face just then, with no need of 
the mask of pride, showed the strain. 

“ I suppose I must go down,” she said as Marie 
with manifest reluctance came to announce more 
“ Officer men ” were waiting below. 

“ But it is that they would come up,” Marie ex¬ 
plained. 

“ Very well,” her mistress said, and looked about. 
“ I see nothing to prevent.” 

The chief inspector came alone, taking the open 
door as a sign of invitation. He was not flattered 
by his reception. For he was driven to the ex- 

39 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


tremity of coughing to notify Mrs. Slayton of his 
presence. She turned from the window with a 
slight inclination of her head, and a composed, 
“ Good-afternoon. Did you knock? ” 

“No, Ma’am.” 

To himself the inspector’s answer sounded school- 
boyish. He made haste to bolster himself in the 
feeling of authority. With her inquiring look, Mrs. 
Slayton waited for him to continue. 

“ I wonder,” he said, “ what changes have been 
made in these rooms, Mrs. Slayton, since your hus¬ 
band’s death.” 

“ None, that I know of.” 

u Then things are just as they were? ” 

“ I suppose so.” She did not seem keenly in¬ 
terested in his inquiry, but added: “ Except, of 
course, what happens incidentally in servants’ care 
of a room.” 

The chief inspector meditated, biting his under¬ 
lip. Then he put his next question: 

“ Has a thorough search of the various pieces of 
furniture been made? ” 

“ I don’t think so.” 

Though she did not say it, her face asked the 
question,—•“ Why? ” 

“ Sometimes valuable clues turn up where they 
are least expected,” the inspector observed. 

“ I have no objection to a search,” she said, and 
turned to the window. 

Somewhat nonplussed, the inspector was by no 

40 


THE THIRTY-EIGHT IN CHIFFONIER 


means paralyzed. Her extraordinary behavior 
was not without advantage to him as an officer. 
With the glint of satisfaction in his eyes he stepped 
briskly to a chiffonier. 

The top drawer opened, he paused before its 
array of frilly finery. Even to a policeman, ex¬ 
amination of a lady’s lingerie in her presence was 
not without embarrassment. 

“ You don’t care to go through the drawers your¬ 
self? ” he suggested. 

“ No, thank you.” 

Her back still turned, he pulled the drawer wide 
open, and began his gingerly search. It would have 
puzzled him to make an inventory of the contents. 
But at least he knew he found nothing of impor¬ 
tance. 

“ Look in the second drawer,”—the Ouija board 
had advised. The inspector opened it without 
enthusiasm. More stuff than the first drawer con¬ 
tained was revealed; petticoats, camisoles, and the 
like. Having removed a few, he pressed here and 
there with exploring fingers. Nothing rewarded 
him. And he closed the drawer with a little 
bang. 

Mrs. Slayton turned at the sound. “ Have you 
finished? ” she asked. 

“ No, Ma’am.” 

The inspector felt his face redden again at the 
humble idiom. 

“ Please do not let me embarrass you.” 

41 


IN TEE TENTH MOON 


She turned once more to the mid-afternoon 
brightness of the park. 

For a moment he hesitated. Then stooped again, 
with an aggressive thrust of his shoulders. The 
third drawer. More petticoats, stockings, sheer 
mysteries he did not seek to fathom. 

Feeling nervously about, his hand came in con¬ 
tact with something that turned him into a statue 
of rigid astonishment. 

His eyes turned instinctively to that back at the 
window. To the figure that seemed so completely 
oblivious of his presence. Then, feverishly, he felt 
again, and looked triumphant. With an impatient 
jerk that scattered garments right and left he held 
his discovery up to feasting eyes. 

“ Is this your revolver? ” 

Mrs. Slayton turned to behold the weapon ex¬ 
tended. And a transformed inspector, with a threat 
in voice and manner. He no longer saw a woman 
surrounded by millions, a superior being who some¬ 
how subdued him to humble speech. Now a possi¬ 
ble criminal was before him. But she neither 
trembled nor turned pale. Her face registered only 
surprise. 

“ No,” she answered, and looked at the revolver 
with seeming curiosity. 

“ How did it get here? ” he demanded, tapping 
the open drawer. 

“ I don’t know.” She looked at him inquiringly. 
“ Did you find it there? ” 

42 


THE THIRTY-EIGHT IN CHIFFONIER 


“ It would be better/’ be said sternly, “ to tell tbe 
truth.” 

She did not answer. With a slight shrug of her 
shoulders she turned again to the widow. Hands 
clasped behind her back, she stood looking across 
the Avenue into leafy fastnesses. Was it disdain? 
Or hardihood? 

The inspector regarded her with a heavy frown. 
Then, with an incredulous shake of his head, he 
turned again to his prize. A French pistol, calibre 
38, and one cartridge discharged. With the inquir¬ 
ing nose of an expert at small arms he sniffed at the 
barrel. Then he held the weapon higher, to get a 
stronger light. It had not been fired within a few 
hours. More, casual examination did not deter¬ 
mine. 

Dropping the revolver into a pocket, he removed 
the contents of the drawer that had held it, to the 
last stitch. Then he went through the remaining 
drawers with equal care. It was fruitless. But he 
had his great prize. Feeling it in his pocket, he 
bent his gaze again upon that back seemingly so 
impassive, so inhumanly calm. It was not thus that 
criminals behaved. Nor yet, in his experience, the 
deportment of the innocent circumstantially threat¬ 
ened. What was brutal within him, both the man 
and the official resolved to break down her barrier 
of icy calm. His voice was harshly peremptory as 
he next addressed her: 


43 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


u Have you any explanation of the revolver 
now? ” 

“ No. Do you want me to make up one? ” 

She did not turn. The inspector buttoned up his 
coat. He had seen many a suspect composed 
enough in familiar surroundings crumble under 
police interrogation in the shadow of the jail. But 
one observation escaped his lips, as he turned to 
the door: 

“ You will be at home to-night? ” 

Put in the form of a question, it had an under¬ 
tone of command. 

“ I think so/ 7 she assented. 

His last vision was of a woman who seemed still 
oblivious, even unconscious, of the potential instru¬ 
ment of death,—death by the law’s decree, in his 
pocket. As he drove away with his subordinates 
he sat silent, with a puzzled frown, and little shakes 
. of his grizzled head. 

“ I can’t make her out,” he reported to the super¬ 
intendent. “ I’ve seen brassy ones, and sassy ones, 
and the kind that cries. This woman acts as if she 
had nothing to do with the case. And this is real 
evidence, or I’m a boob.” He looked at the revolver 
almost lovingly. “ Same calibre Slayton was shot 
with,” he added. 

“Well,” said his superior, “I never saw one, 
guilty or innocent, that wouldn’t talk in the end. 
If this woman feels herself injured by suspicion, she 
has a chance to help set us on the right trail.” 

44 


THE THIRTY-EIGHT IN CHIFFONIER 

“ Then we’d better bring her down? ” 

The chief inspector’s eagerness was manifest. 
The superintendent stroked his nose. 

“ Let’s see what the district attorney says,” he 
observed finally. “ Get him on the ’phone.” 

The conference occurred, and spread. The dis¬ 
trict attorney was there; likewise his chief of med¬ 
ical examiners. And the police commissioner him¬ 
self sat in. With a city election coming on, there 
was too much dynamite in the Slayton case for 
precipitate action. If the voters have a way of 
praising at the polls, they are even quicker to cen¬ 
sure. 

But there was enough, by all rules of the game, 
to justify interrogation. The bullet removed from 
Slayton’s brain of the same calibre as the cartridges 
in the revolver found in his wife’s dresser. And 
from that weapon one bullet had been fired. . . . 
The widow had possession of the lethal firearm. 
And indisputably she had opportunity to kill her 
husband. It was not in evidence that any other 
person was near, save in her wild tale of mysterious 
drugging. Ample evidence, urged the district at¬ 
torney, for taking her into custody. 

“ I don’t want to arrest at this time,” the police 
commissioner objected. u Suppose she used the re¬ 
volver, and hid it in her bureau. Then why didn’t 
she put it later in a less dangerous place? She 
must have known it was there, and had plenty of 
chances.” 


45 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


Cunning, the district attorney answered, or the 
timidity of a novice in crime. 

“ And the motive? ” pressed the commissioner. 

“ There’s a back-stairs story,” the chief inspector 
remarked, “ about a disagreement between Slayton 
and his wife that night. A maid told one of our 
men she heard them jawing.” 

“ Still, I can’t believe a woman of her intelligence 
would leave the revolver in her room for you to 
find it, if she had reason to dread its discovery,” 
the commissioner persisted. “ We’ve got to ques¬ 
tion her. But I draw the line on arrest just now. 
Unless,”—he turned to the district attorney, “ you 
insist upon it. It’s your right, if you want to.” 

“ Have your way,” said the prosecutor a bit 
sulkily. “ I was the goat in the Foroney case. 
That’ll do for a while.” 

That evening a dark motor stopped at Jabez 
Slayton’s door. And two plain clothes men stepped 
out. Their summons was not unexpected. For 
the chief inspector’s discovery of a revolver in 
Leila Slayton’s chiffonier was known to both Jabez 
and George. 

The old man took the first overt act of the au¬ 
thorities against his daughter-in-law with one sug¬ 
gestion. 

“ Fll send my lawyer down with you, if the police 
will let him in.” 

“ Thanks,” she said quietly. “ I prefer to go 
alone.” 


46 


THE THIRTY-EIGHT IN CHIFFONIER 


“ All right ,’ 7 he assented. With the inscrutable 
glance men had dreaded in business he made meas¬ 
ured exit from the room. 

“ What does it mean, Leila? ” 

Desperate intensity colored George’s question. 

“ It’s as much a mystery to me,” she replied. 

“ It is damnable,” he said fiercely. 

If he had thought of accompanying her to police 
headquarters, the escorting officers made plain that 
would not be permitted. 

“Your pardon, sir,” said one as he came with 
Leila to the door. Flanked on either side, she was 
on the steps in a twinkling. And almost before 
Slayton realized it she was gone. But he followed 
after, as she was whirled down-town, through the 
gay and gabbling after-theatre crowd. And he sat 
in his roadster, silently waiting outside the dark 
pile of headquarters, with a few windows outlined 
in cautious light, until the immediate ordeal was 
over. 

While the morning press made much of discovery 
of a revolver in Leila Slayton’s boudoir, their alert 
reporters knew nothing of the heavily veiled woman 
admitted to the police commissioner’s office by his 
private entrance. The commissioner himself was 
there, and the district attorney, who promptly took 
the laboring oar. He was a strong believer in 
frontal attack. 

“ We have sent for you, Mrs. Slayton, to ask you 
a question.” 


47 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Yes,” she assented without evidence of trepida¬ 
tion. 

“ What did you and your husband quarrel about 
the night he was killed? ” 

“ I wouldn’t say that we did quarrel.” 

“ You had no disagreement? ” 

“ Yes,” she admitted. “ Just that.” 

“What was it about?” 

“I don’t think it has anything to do with his 
death,” she fended, with momentary hesitation. 

“ Perhaps you are not the best judge of that.” 

The district attorney’s voice was charged with 
sarcasm. With his next question it took on a sud¬ 
den cutting edge. 

“ Did you have trouble over a woman? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Her reply conveyed only the barest monosyllabic 
significance. 

“ Tell us about it.” 

Another momentary pause. Then she answered 
calmly: 

“ I’m sorry. But I can’t do that.” 

“ Then you have nothing further to say about 
it? ” 

She bowed affirmatively. Within five minutes of 
her arrival they had reached this impasse. Now the 
police commissioner took a hand. There was noth¬ 
ing threatening in his manner. Rather it was fa¬ 
therly. 

“I trust you realize, Mrs. Slayton,” he said, 

48 


THE THIRTY-EIGHT IN CHIFFONIER 


“ that we are not actuated by personal curiosity in 
these questions.” 

“ Certainly.” 

She gave no sign of wavering. But as she sat 
very straight in her chair, her hands were clasped 
with such tensity it seemed the interlocking fingers 
would never loosen. Below her partially lifted veil 
her lips were pale and very firm. There was curios¬ 
ity in the look the commissioner bent upon her. 
Curiosity, and something akin to pity. 

“ And you know, do you not,” he went on, “ that 
certain circumstances have made your present posi¬ 
tion somewhat unfortunate? ” 

“ I realize that.” 

“ And still you cannot answer the question just 
asked? ” 

u It is impossible.” 

“We thank you for the visit,” the district at¬ 
torney said suavely. “ I only regret it was not 
more to your advantage.” 

He turned to collect papers on a table beside him. 
The commissioner pressed a button. As if sum¬ 
moned by Aladdin’s lamp, the waiting detectives 
appeared. The immediate ordeal was over. 

Without further words, but saluted with polite 
bows, she passed from headquarters to the waiting 
car. A little to the rear came her police escort. 
Once more they drove rapidly through the inter¬ 
mediate region of the “ Great White Way,” on to 
quiet reaches of the upper Avenue. Far behind 

49 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

followed George, furious victim to a street block¬ 
ade. 

Old Jabez was waiting, but asked no questions. 
One remembering bis behavior the night of the mur¬ 
der might have suspected something bordering on 
disappointment in his expression. With a formal, 
“ Good-night ” he went stiffly up to his rooms. 

But Marie waited, adoring, with all her heart in 
one word: 

“ Madame! ” 

And her tears of love were as ointment to a lac¬ 
erated spirit. 

Night passed. The morning brought the blow. 
Again Leila Slayton was called to police headquar¬ 
ters. And that time she did not return. 


50 


CHAPTER III 


JUST A SCRAP OF PAPER 

“ The Reverse English. 

It happened that on the day of Leila Slayton’s 
arrest for the murder of her husband a poor Polish 
woman was taken for killing her lover. She con¬ 
fessed, and justified herself on the ground of in¬ 
fidelity. Thus the saffron press, licking a morsel of 
back-stairs gossip, found a way to insinuate what it 
dared not assert. It suggested a parallel between 
the fury of Bleecker Street and the “ Enigma of 
Fifth Avenue.” 

Mrs. Slayton said nothing. Nor did Jabez or 
his surviving son issue any statement. Their mu¬ 
tual repugnance was deepened by Mr. Robert 
Kent’s aversion to publicity; or at least to prema¬ 
ture publicity. Long accustomed to sitting in the 
presence of the financially august, and making con¬ 
fidential suggestions to appellate judges, Mr. Kent 
had turned back to criminal practice for the nonce 
at Jabez’s behest. A favor of questionable benefit. 
For Mr. Kent, with all his allurement of genially 
courtly personality, and his undoubted eminent 
standing, was far removed from sprightly tricks of 
criminal practice. One of those able young lawyers 
wolfing his way upward might better have served 
Leila in her tragic predicament. 

51 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

There was no talk of bail, after a tentative sug¬ 
gestion the district attorney violently opposed. He 
had instant vision of “ Discrimination in Favor of 
the Rich ” chanted against himself in the impend¬ 
ing election. George did what he could for Leila, 
when she would consent to see him. And Marie 
was indefatigable. But inevitably she suffered. To 
the gently nurtured, prison life is terrible, even at 
its best. But no one saw her ilinch, or weep. 

One boon, if it were to hasten the swinging open 
of prison gates, was vouchsafed her. Backed by 
the Slayton millions, and the professional prestige 
of Robert Kent, an early date on the trial calendar 
was obtained. . . . The district attorney ob¬ 

jected vigorously. With blended vehemence and 
ready pathos he reminded the court of all the men 
and women of lowly station, who had no one to 
cushion imprisonment, waiting weary months for 
their day in court. He spoke feelingly of equality 
of all before the law, and won the coveted place on 
the newspaper page. But the court overruled him. 

The district attorney was a politician-at-law re¬ 
joicing in the name of Isaac Vickery. He pleaded 
the need of more time required to prepare the 
state’s case. What he really hoped was that some¬ 
how or other more evidence for the prosecution 
would be turned up. In the back of his head nestled 
a surmise that Leila herself would unwittingly 
strengthen the case against her. 

Weeks wore on, and as the time of trial ap- 

52 


JUST A SCRAP OF PAPER 


proached the city press again brought the name of 
Slayton to the fore. It had been some years since 
New York newspaper readers revelled in a society 
murder case. Now city editors proposed to make 
the most of this one. Court attaches charged with 
provision for multitudinous reporters and photog¬ 
raphers, all timed to the second in visualization of 
a cause celebre, groaned with their labor. Prepara¬ 
tion for trial by the state and the defense seemed 
comparatively simple. 

Apparently, it would be a trial strictly upon the 
evidence. It was not intimated that the defense 
would set up a claim of emotional insanity, or any 
other variation of mental weakness. For once 
u Dementia Americana ” failed to rear its head. 
And the alienists would have no pickings. 

Would the defendant take the stand? Only Leila 
and Mr. Kent knew. What he thought of her story, 
at which the police scoffed, he kept to himself. He 
seemed to find the case very simple. Too simple 
even. As the time drew near she felt added to the 
major terror of her position the loneliness of an 
abandoned child. Upon George, with what was be¬ 
tween them, and the ordeal before her, she could 
not lean. 

Though he came as often as prison rules and her 
sense of discretion would permit, they were only 
little frozen calls within the hearing of some guard, 
unless they talked in careful undertones. Even 
when men in uniform were briefly absent there was 

53 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


the paralyzing possibility that they listened at some 
secret peep-bole. So neither spoke what was in the 
heart. On her side, the barrier of pride intensified 
by her position. With him, the chilling fear of 
adding to her heavy burden. 

He was not at her side when the call to court 
came. The shock of emergence into a strange and 
roaring world was little softened by the companion¬ 
ship of a sad-faced prison matron whose lips seemed 
perpetually about to frame,—“ Though your sins 
be as scarlet-.” Leila summoned again the re¬ 

serves of self-control. Even the gaping crowd that 
stared as if she were a strange animal, pressing 
with hands curved to tear aside her veil in the few 
steps between cab and court-house, she took as a 
manifestation of her via dolorosa leading—perhaps 
—to deliverance. 

The court-room audience found her unsatisfac¬ 
tory. Unsatisfactory, because strange. A woman 
charged with murder who sat veiled; who neither 
wept nor shuddered; nor even clasped and un¬ 
clasped nervous hands, robbed them of accustomed 
vicarious thrills. Women who had dropped in from 
shopping, or nothing in particular, called her 
“Brazen.” To male experts gravitating between 
court and poolroom she was a “ Deep One.” Re¬ 
porters quickly discovered her “ Iron Nerve.” 
What the jury thought was determined later. 

With,—“ May it please the Court ” the battle was 
on. In the matter of counsel the balance of per- 

54 



JUST A SCRAP OF PAPER 


sonality was with the defense. That was speedily 
evident. Both mentally and physically, Kent over¬ 
came the district-attorney in their passage-at-arms. 
His disadvantage established, the prosecutor 
steered clear of such encounters. For that matter, 
points of law were few indeed to wrangle over. 

Matters went smoothly enough, as if money only, 
and not a human life were involved. Most of the 
state’s witnesses told the truth, or seemed to do so, 
as they understood it. Carlin, and the maid whose 
careless tongue gave the police their clue of do¬ 
mestic discord, were unwilling witnesses for the 
prosecution. Sympathy with their mistress was 
evident, and they did her no material harm. For 
the maid only remembered hearing voices slightly 
raised as she passed the room in which Frank Slay¬ 
ton and his wife were dining. The purport of their 
conversation she could not tell. Trying to stimu¬ 
late her imagination, the district attorney was 
squelched. 

Policemen who came to the Slayton house the 
night of the murder were more obliging. That they 
would find ground for suspicion in Leila’s bearing 
after the crime was to be expected. And when she 
was charged with its commission they retouched 
their impressions. For they were used to thinking 
the desired thought. 

With but trifling cross-examination by the 
defense, the state presented its case rapidly. There 
was the established opportunity of the defendant to 

55 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


kill her husband. And who else had it? There was 
the revolver of the calibre with which he was slain, 
found in a drawer of her chiffonier. Who put it 
there? . . . And why had she refused any aid in 
running down her husband’s murderer? Was it not 
fear of entanglement through a treacherous tongue? 
The state rested. 

Witnesses for the defense were few. Members 
of the household testified they had never known of 
wrangling between Frank Slayton and his wife. 
Doctor Gordon took the stand to say that he 
thought her bearing after the murder in nowise 
suspicious. Only what might be expected of, and 
admired in, a person of superior mentality with 
unusual power of self-control. The prosecution did 
not shake him. 

Without warning came the great moment for 
which the crowd waited. 

“ And now, Mrs. Slayton, will you kindly take 
the stand? ” 

At Mr. Kent’s urbane request, as one person tie 
spectators craned their necks. It was the first op¬ 
portunity of many clearly to see her face. They 
took eager inventory as walking with the easy pre¬ 
cision of one crossing her own drawing-room, she 
crossed those long yards between the counsel 
table and witness box, and stood facing friend and 
foe. 

How curious the psychology of the crowd. It 
demands of the harried appropriate symptoms. No 

• 56 


JUST A SCRAP OF PAPER 


wave of sympathy went out to Leila, standing there 
with a firm front. 

Direct examination was soon over. u The story 
of the evening, as you remember it, in your own 
way,” Mr. Kent requested when the oath had been 
administered. 

She told it simply, never glancing at the district 
attorney, who leaned far forward endeavoring to 
engage her eyes. How she was reading in her 
boudoir, not yet in the mood for bed. Yet she 
thought she had slept a little when suddenly she 
had the feeling, not easily described, of someone 
near by. Startled, she looked instinctively at the 
door leading into the hall. It seemed to her the 
knob turned a bit. She rose to investigate, and 
opened the door to darkness. And out of the dark¬ 
ness, as she stepped into the hall to test the switch, 
came a hand that sealed her lips with the stupefying 
chloroform. When she came to she sought help of 
her husband. And she found him dead. Only she 
was not sure of it at the time. She at once sent for 
the police, because a crime had been committed; 
and for the doctor, to determine her husband’s in¬ 
jury. That w T as all. 

“ Your witness,” Mr. Kent said to the district 
attorney. 

“ Kow, Mrs. Slayton, is this all you can remem¬ 
ber of what took place that evening? ” the prosecu¬ 
tor inquired, approaching the witness stand as if to 
emphasize his question. 


57 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Yes,” she answered. 

“ With time so precious, why did you not your¬ 
self summon aid on discovery of your husband's 
body, instead of sending for the butler to do it? ” 

The question was thrown at her abruptly. She 
answered promptly. 

“ I can only say I did what seemed to me the 
natural thing. Carlin had a telephone list. I my¬ 
self would hardly know how to get a policeman 
quickly.” 

“ I see.” The district attorney pulled his mus¬ 
tache. “We must make allowance for your 
naivete.” 

“ Your Honor, I protest against such insinua¬ 
tions.” Mr. Kent’s voice was sharp with anger. 

“ The district attorney knows his comment was 
improper. He must not indulge in such observa¬ 
tions again.” 

“ I crave Your Honor’s pardon.” 

The district attorney bowed, and shifted his 
ground. 

“ Do you think it possible for a normal adult,— 
a woman, we will say, of your age and apparent 
vigor, to be seized and held as you have described, 
without knowing something about her assailant? ” 

“ I can only say it happened to me.” 

“And you don’t know,” the district attorney 
sneered, “ whether the man was black or white? ” 

“ He was white,” she said quietly. 

“ And how do you know? ” 

58 


JUST A SCRAP OF PAPER 


“ My nose could tell me that.” 

“ Very good.” He pushed a sheaf of papers to 
one side. “Now, Mrs. Slayton, you have heard 
your butler’s testimony that you quarrelled with 
your husband but a short time before the shoot¬ 
ing.” 

“ I object,” Mr. Kent interjected. “ There is 
nothing of that sort in the butler’s evidence.” 

“ Never mind,” said the district attorney testily. 
“ The maid, then. Both are servants in the house. 
You did quarrel with your husband, Mrs. Slayton, 
did you not? ” 

“ A disagreement, not a ‘ quarrel,’ ” she corrected 

him. 

“Very well. Let’s call it a disagreement. At 
any rate, unpleasant words. What was it about? ” 

“ I cannot answer that question.” 

“ You must.” 

The district attorney raised a menacing fore¬ 
finger. Almost instantly Mr. Kent was on his feet. 
But the judge anticipated his protest. 

“ It is my duty,” he said paternally, “ to instruct 
the defendant that she is not obliged to answer 
questions bearing upon the crime with which she 
stands charged. She will, however, realize that 
failure to do so may count against her.” 

“ It’s not that I’m afraid,” Leila turned to the 
bench. “Only it is something I dislike to have 
bruited about. If it is put in this light I will say 
we disagreed about a woman.” 

59 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

“Ah!” said the district attorney. “What 
woman? ” 

“ I don’t think it fair to give her name.” 

“ You refuse? ” 

“ I must do so.” 

“ Were you jealous of her? ” 

The district attorney took a few rapid steps, as 
if to add to his question the force of physical per¬ 
suasion. Leila did not flinch. 

“ Not exactly,” she said. 

“ What was your feeling, then? ” 

“ Simply that I did not care to have her in my 
house.” 

“ But he wanted her? ” 

“ That was it.” 

“ Was George Slaton’s name mentioned in that 
quarrel? ” 

Leila flushed to her temples; with momentary 
hesitation she opened her lips to speak. But Mr. 
Kent was on his feet, thundering a protest. 

“ I object, Your Honor, to this unmanly and ut¬ 
terly malicious insinuation.” 

The judge adjusted his glasses. 

“Ho you propose, Mr. District Attorney, to 
follow this question with any evidence? ” he in¬ 
quired. 

“ I withdraw the question, Your Honor,” the 
prosecutor said. “ If my brother will bear with me 
in brief delay,” with a nod to Mr. Kent, “ I would 
like to consult with my assistant.” 

60 


JUST A SCRAP OF PAPER 


“ Be seated, Mrs. Slayton,” the judge observed, 
“ while you wait.” 

She sat pale and still as a statue. The rage of 
George, whose solicitude for her had been patent 
throughout the trial, was obvious. His clenched 
fists menaced the district attorney, as he stood al¬ 
most within reach, stooped over the counsel table 
in whispered conversation with one of his juniors, 
who produced a small envelope from the despatch 
case before him. 

“ May it please the court, I have one more ques¬ 
tion to put to the defendant.” 

Leila rose again. Her eyes more darkly blue met 
those of the district attorney, sauntering toward 
her with something triumphant in his elaborately 
careless air. 

“ Do you mind telling me,” he asked, “ if you ever 
saw this before? ” 

She took from his hand a somewhat scorched and 
crumpled scrap of paper. For a moment her head 
was bent in inspection. As she straightened, re¬ 
turning the exhibit to his outstretched hand, her 
carriage was proud, not pitiful. 

“ I think so,” she said. 

Her voice was low. 

“ And did you ever before have it in your pos¬ 
session? ” 

The same answer. 

“ I think so.” 


61 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


u May I see the paper? ” Mr. Kent requested with 
manifest anxiety. 

“ It is offered as an exhibit,” the district attorney 
said, and turned again to Leila. 

“ Kow what, if you remember, did you do with 
this paper when you had it before? ” 

“ I thought I had burned it.” 

“ How did it come into your possession? ” 

“ By mail.” 

Again he handed the scrap of paper to her. 

“ Will you be kind enough to read what is legi¬ 
ble? ” 

“ I object,” snapped Mr. Kent. 

The defendant did not avail herself of his pro¬ 
tection. With every eye on her she forced her 
stiffened lips to read: 

“ Darling : 

“We can be alone to-day. I must see 
you-” 

“Who wrote it?” the district attorney de¬ 
manded. 

“ I don’t know,” she said slowly. 

He looked at her with feigned solicitude. 

“ Have you no explanation to give? ” 

Kow impotent to protect, Mr. Kent solicitously 
stood near. 

“ This ”—she slightly raised the note in her hand 
—“was one of the letters I received from some 
stranger. They were violent love letters, and un- 

62 



JUST A SCRAP OF PAPER 


signed. I didn’t know what to do about them. 
Burning seemed the best thing.” 

u You never told your husband about them? ” 

“ Never.” 

“ Why not? ” he asked sharply. 

“ He would not have understood.” 

The district attorney turned with a significant 
look to the panel. 

“ But you expect the jury to understand.” 

“ I can only tell them the truth.” 

Taking the ominous bit of paper from her hand, 
the prosecutor returned to his table with a self-sat¬ 
isfied smile. 

“ Now, Mrs. Slayton,” he pursued, “ doesn’t this 
note help to explain your misunderstanding with 
your husband? ” 

“ It does not,” she said evenly. 

“ Does it not help to explain the killing of Mr. 
Slayton? ” 

“ Not to me.” 

“ That is all.” 

With an air of indifference he sat down. Leila’s 
lawyer asked a question or two of no avail, and 
desisted. 

“ If counsel have completed their evidence, we 
will take a recess of thirty minutes before hearing 
arguments,” the judge announced, and disappeared 
into his chamber while the crier was still busy with 
his proclamation. 

Even before that minute reporters scribbling 

63 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


furiously, and reporters with much physical ardor 
besieging telephone booths, were racing for editions 
with the long awaited sensation of the case. The 
hostile camps of prosecution and defense, one jubi¬ 
lant, the other grim in the shadow of great defeat, 
were busy in consultation. The speculative crowd, 
each fearing to leave a coveted seat, was busy with 
argument over the jury’s prospective verdict. And 
the jury was somewhere smoking the fraternal pipe 
in a bailiff’s care. Leila sat beside Mr. Kent, ob¬ 
viously much shaken by the state’s surprise attack. 
After a word or two of attempted cheer, George 
hovered near, of all eyes defiant. In a sense not 
less evident because the attack was covertly made, 
he had been suggested as a motive for the killing 
of his brother. 

How would this suggestion of a vile and secret 
motive for the murder of Frank Slayton affect the 
jury? It was an average panel, for the most part 
composed of honest, unimaginative men. 

The drama of life and death came now to its third 
and last act. For the crowd, the forensic display. 
Mr. Kent for the defense was a sort of trip-hammer. 
The district attorney beat a tattoo. On one side an 
eloquent effort to overcome the blind force of cir¬ 
cumstantial evidence. On the other, insistence that 
Leila Slayton, and she alone, had opportunity to 
kill her husband. And the motive for the crime the 
district attorney flourished in that charred note. 

It was not the jury’s duty, the prosecutor ob- 

64 


JUST A SCRAP OF PAPER 


served in closing, to be sympathetic. It was their 
obligation to be just. Just to the law, to the public 
they were sworn to serve. The same justice to rich 
and poor alike. To the defendant’s beauty, and the 
exalted social position she had occupied, they must 
close their eyes. He demanded a verdict of guilty 
for the sanctity of the home. 

The judge rose to deliver his charge. He was not 
an imposing high priest of justice. Constitutional 
mildness peering from somewhat baggy blue eyes 
remained uncured by the autocratic sway of the 
bench. “ Equity ” Brown—so his confreres called 
him—did not relish presiding over a murder trial. 
In his exposition of law he was painstaking, never 
severe. The jury felt in him a candid counsellor, a 
sympathetic friend. 

“ Take the case, gentlemen,” he said in closing. 
“ Consider it in its every phase. Consider it 
solemnly as if it were to be the last act of your life, 
and you knew it. And when you have arrived at 
that conclusion which to you seems just, declare 
your verdict in the fear of God, and without fear of 
man. Gentlemen, you may be seated.” 

Officers collected the exhibits of the case. And 
one bearing a tall stave led the file of jurors to 
their fateful consultation. As the door closed be¬ 
hind them a sigh of relaxation, of mournful antici¬ 
pation, seemed to fill the room. 


65 


CHAPTER IV 


THE PANEL CEREBRATES 

From behind a smoke screen came the voice of 
Juror Isaac Hurwicz, asthmatic but firm: “ Well, I 
think the same.” 

“ Aw! ” 

The chair of Juror Joseph Glynn came down 
with a bang. 

“ You can’t think. That’s the trouble. You 
won’t listen to reason.” 

“ It ain’t because you don’t give him a chance, 
Joe,” said Juror Freddy McNeil, with a chuckle, 
“ you talk enough.” 

“ You mean to say I hog the floor? ” 

Juror McNeil disarmed irritation with a deeper 
chuckle, and genial advice: 

“ Keep your shirt on, Joe, old boy.” 

Juror George Curtin grew plaintive, and 
slightly musical, as he chanted: 

11 Where do we go from here, boys— 

Where do we go from here-” 

“ Nowhere. Not a chance,” growled Juror 
Frank Stellberger. “Another night in that blasted 
hotel. Cooped like poultry. And I have to sleep 

66 



THE PAHEL CEREBEATEE 

with Bill Carey. You’re a wonder, Bill, with that 
snore like a freight engine with a hundred cars 
hitched on, working up-grade.” 

“ I’ve got nothing on you at that,” retorted Juror 
Carey, and ground his spearmint more vehemently. 
u You need a Maxim silencer in your sleep. Ever 
hear a factory exhaust pipe letting off steam, 
boys? ” 

Juror Stellberger’s quest of a really crushing re¬ 
tort was interrupted by the turning key of the 
jury room door. Officer Corrigan stepped into the 
room. 

“ Well, boys,” he inquired genially, “ got a ver¬ 
dict for the court? ” 

“ A fat chance! ” Juror Samuel Carr commented 
disgustedly. 

“ I guess you can run me for representative from 
this ward next time,” Juror Freddy McNeil ob¬ 
served. 

“ You’re sticking to it well,” said Officer Corri¬ 
gan, with noble disregard of personal inconveni¬ 
ence. “ It’s about closing time. I guess I’d better 
take any messages you want to send before the 
telephone operator goes off duty.” 

(i You know what to say,” Foreman Bernard 
Stone suggested. “ The same thing: ‘ Jury hung 
up. Can’t tell when it will agree, if it ever does. 
Expect me when I come.’ ” 

“ Ditto,” said Juror Carr. 

“ And that goes for me,” added Juror Flynn. 

67 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


u Take it down the line / 7 urged a fourth man. 

Juror Isaac Hurwicz laboriously wrote a name 
and telephone number, and handed Officer Corri¬ 
gan the slip of paper. 

“ Will you ask, please, is she well yet? ” 

“ Sure,” said the officer good-naturedly, and de¬ 
parted, locking the door. 

“ Anybody got a cigar? ” asked Juror Curtin as 
members of the panel tilted back their chairs, once 
more prepared to give battle for justice. Only it 
appeared in the faces of several that they regarded 
members of the obstinate minority as nearly en¬ 
titled to rating with the defendant. 

u It’s my fifth wedding anniversary to-night,” 
said Juror Howard Hanson accusingly. 

“ I guess my company will have to get along 
without its president at the directors’ quarterly 
meeting,” grumbled Juror Solomon Finley, a whole¬ 
sale fish dealer. 

“ I got nothing on my mind. But I’ll bet my girl 
has on hers.” Juror Freddy McNeil spoke merrily. 
“ This’ll be the second Tuesday I’ve failed to take 
her out.” 

“ Let’s go over the evidence just once more,” 
urged Juror Flynn, w T ho had small respect for the 
court’s appointment of Juror Bernard Stone as 
foreman. “ There must be something somebody 
don’t understand.” 

“ I guess there is,” offered the irrepressible Mc¬ 
Neil. 


68 


THE PANEL CEREBRATES 


“ It’s just like this-” 

Juror Flynn was not to be lightly interrupted. 
He looked at his cigar, to make sure it was well 
lighted, and at his fellow jurors to compel attention 
as he resumed: 

“ I paid particular attention. And I can’t see 
but that the facts are plain. Is the woman guilty? 
Or ain’t she? We don’t have to bother about any 
co-respondents.” 

“ This isn’t a divorce case, you know,” Juror 
Clifford reminded him, as he lounged at ease, still 
keeping his eyes on some spot in the ceiling. His 
suggestion mildly offered was respectfully received. 

“ Thanks, Captain,” said Juror Flynn. “ It’s 
another defendant I mean.” 

“ Now what are the facts? Here are some big 
bugs. Rolling in money. Old Jabez Slayton made 
ten millions in the steel business. My father 
worked for him when he was getting his start. 
And he was a tight-fisted boss.” 

“ What’s that got to do with the facts in this 
murder case? ” asked Foreman Stone, briefly sug¬ 
gesting authority. 

u Well, we’ve got to weigh folks’ character with 
the evidence,” Juror Flynn answered defiantly. 
“ The judge told us to. Now, old Slayton has two 
sons,—Frank and George. Only he hasn’t got 
Frank any more. And if there’s anything in what 
people say,—and usually there is, it might better 
have happened the other way.” 

69 



IN TEE TENTH MOON 


u Is this what you call listening to reason? ” 
inquired Juror Carr, and fell to champing his 
cigar. 

“ Do you mean to say I’m foolish? ” demanded 
Juror Flynn, thumping the table. 

“No. You’re the only man that thinks in this 
room. Tell me some more.” 

Juror Flynn complied. 

“As I was saying, old Jabez Slayton had two 
sons, Frank and George. His wife died a long 
while ago. Before he ever thought of moving into 
the house with the lions out front, on the Avenue. 
She was a nice woman, they said. And Frank sort 
of favored her. . . . What’s the matter? ” 

“ Oh, nothing.” Juror Carr spat resignedly. “ I 
can look tired if I want to, can’t I? ” 

Juror Flynn snorted. 

“As I was saying, when somebody interrupted 
me. Frank had some of Jabez’s good qualities, too. 
A quiet, steady feller, with a head for business. 
Vice-president of the Slayton Company when he 
went into the army; and not thirty at that.” 

“ George for me, every time,” cut in Juror Freddy 
McNeil. 

“ What do you know about the Slayton family? ” 

Sarcasm saturated the voice of Juror Flynn. 

“ Well, anyway I don’t fall back on Father.” The 
zest of the born baiter twinkled in Juror McNeil’s 
eyes. “We used to sell coal to the Slayton Com¬ 
pany. I’ve been to their offices. Once or twice I 

70 


THE PAHEL CEREBRATES 


got as far as the cellar and basement of their house. 
Ever there, Joe? ” 

Juror Flynn drew a long breath. 

“ As I was saying, what we got to do here is be 
convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. That’s what 
the judge said. He meant,—just be sure of the 
facts. And you can’t do that without making up 
your mind who’s lying. Stands to reason some¬ 
body is, with two sides to the case. You got to go 
back a piece to see what kind of stuff Jabez Slay¬ 
ton’s family was. To my way of thinkin’, it helps 
to show what might have tempted his wife to put 
Frank Slayton out of the way. Am I right? ” 

“ I don’t see it,” observed Juror Carr. 

“ I’m telling you,” explained Juror Flynn. “ Now 
here’s the woman in the case. You remember a lot 
about her in the papers when they got married. 
Leily Hansom her name was.” 

“ Leila Hansom,” said Juror Clifford, never re¬ 
moving his hands from his pockets, or relaxing his 
steadfast inspection of the ceiling. 

u All right, Captain. 6 Leila ’ it is. I recollect 
she was an English girl; nursing in a base hospital 
when Frank Slayton met her. Well fitted for such 
work, I’d say. She’s shown plenty of nerve in the 
court room.” 

“ The district attorney roasted her for fair,” 
commented Juror Curtin. “ Of course, a murder 
trial is no tea party. But I’ve my opinion of him. 
The little beast.” 


71 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Maybe so.” 

Juror Flynn passed on. 

“ But that’s neither here nor there. All we have 
to do is consider the facts in the case. Now there’s 
got to be a motive. People don’t kill for nothing. 
What did we find here? ” He lifted a magisterial 
forefinger. . . . “ She admitted on the stand 

that she had a row with her husband at dinner.” 

“ Just a minute.” 

Juror Carr took a hand. 

“ She said there was no real trouble. And prob¬ 
ably there wasn’t. Lots of people row a little at 
times. Don’t you ever disagree with your wife? 
It’s no crime.” 

“Well,” Juror Flynn insisted, “it amounts to 
considerable when Frank Slayton gets a bullet in 
his brain an hour or two later.” 

Juror Carr’s chair came down with a thump. 

“ Oh, what’s the use? If you’ve found a verdict 
for the jury, we might as well report now. It 
would have saved time to tell us a day or two 
ago.” 

“ Somebody’s got to do some thinking,” said 
Juror Flynn kindly. “ To help those that don’t 
know how. Now let’s get back to the facts. Leily 
— 4 Leily,’ I mean—marries Frank in London after 
the armistice. And they come back here to live. 
Frank goes back into the Slayton business, and 
settles down with his wife in old Jabez’s house. 

“ Now what? After a while George is discharged 

72 


THE PANEL CEREBRATES 


from the army, too. But he don't come back to the 
Slayton business. . . . Why not? " 

“ Say, Joe," Juror Carey inquired, “ are you try¬ 
ing to convict George Slayton of this crime? Or 
are you just after his sister-in-law? " 

“ I thought you was asleep, Bill," retorted Juror 
Flynn. “ Now I know it. I may say,—some ideas 
about this case I'm keeping to myself. All we 
have to do now"—he paused impressively—“is 
to say whether this woman shot her husband or 
not." 

Foreman Stone rapped on the table with his 
knuckles. 

“Can't we get back to the evidence?" he in¬ 
quired. 

Juror Flynn shifted his cigar to get a fresh grip 
on his narrative. 

“ Now both sides agree about considerable in the 
case. Jabez was at his club. And George seems 
to have a handy alibi. Who was in the house, then? 
Frank and his wife. . . . Most of the servants 

at a party. So they don't know anything about the 
murder. But the butler was there. And a maid 
that says she was in a room on the third floor sew¬ 
ing with the French girl that waits on Frank’s 
wife. They may be honest when they say they 
don't know anything about the shooting. It's dif¬ 
ferent with the butler. I think he's keeping some¬ 
thing back." 

“ I suppose he ought to tell a story connecting 

73 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


George with the case somehow,” sarcastically sug¬ 
gested Juror Carr. 

Juror Flynn rolled on. 

“ Well, he took care not to know too much. Just 
as soon as he heard Frank and his wife jawing, he 
went off to polish some silver. And he never heard 
the shot? Why not? He wasn’t more than fifty 
yards away, with a door or two between. How 
could he help hearing? ” 

“ The murderer possibly used a Maxim silencer,” 
suggested Juror Clifford. 

“ That’s so, Captain,” Juror Flynn admitted. “ I 
hadn’t thought of that. And the lawyers never 
mentioned it.” 

“ They ain’t so wise,” said Juror Freddy McNeil. 

“ I’ll say so,” allowed Juror Flynn. “ Now about 
this cock-and-bull story of how she was grabbed 
and chloroformed in the dark, quicker than you 
could say Jack Robinson. Didn’t she give up 
easy? ” 

Juror Flynn looked about wisely. 

“ I’ll say she did. Too darned easy. . . 0 

She couldn’t speak; she couldn’t see; she couldn’t 
move her hands. All done as slick as you please. 
Then she passed out of the picture. . . . What 

next? When it’s time she comes to. Does she call 
for help? Oh, no. And why not? I ask you.” 

“ Play fair, Joe.” Juror Carey shifted his spear¬ 
mint, and cleared his throat disapprovingly. “ She 
says she didn’t know then what had happened.” 

74 


THE PANEL CEREBRATES 


“Have it your own w T ay. But a woman’s first 
impulse is to holler when she is frightened. Every¬ 
body knows that. But it seems Frank Slayton’s 
wife is an exception. First, she takes a look around 
her own room. It seems all right. So, all calm 
and collected, she steps into—what do you call it? 
—the dressing-room between hers and her hus¬ 
band’s. And there he is on the floor. Having all 
her wits about her, she noticed he was turned on 
his left side. 

“ What now? Hoes she call for help? Not yet. 
She stoops to look him over. She sees blood. But 
she don’t scream. Nothing of the sort. She just 
goes to work on first aid remedies. 

“ It’s no go. She can’t revive him. But still she 
don’t call for help.” Juror Flynn raised his right 
hand impressively. “ It may be the last minute to 
save his life. And she rings for an old, rheumatic 
butler, to tell him to get a doctor.” 

“ I don’t know what right you’ve got to say what 
was in her mind, and what wasn’t,” protested Juror 
Carr. “ It’s our job to sift the evidence.” 

“ It is.” J uror Flynn bit off the end of a cigar 
decisively. “ And we’ve got a right to put two and 
two together. Frank’s wife was pretty shrewd. 
But they always overlook something. . . . You 

remember the police asked her if she knew of any 
firearms in the house. And she said Frank had a 
revolver she saw once on his bureau. 

“ The police didn’t find one there. Who would 

75 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


expect to? . . . But where did they find it? 

In her bureau. She never thought they would look 
there.” 

Juror Clifford brought his eyes down from the 
ceiling to examine the militant Flynn with specu¬ 
lative interest. 

“There’s no proof,” he observed, “that the re¬ 
volver found belonged to either Mrs. Slayton or her 
husband.” 

“ But it’s a 38. The calibre Frank Slayton was 
shot with,” Juror Flynn persisted. “ And one car¬ 
tridge had been exploded.” 

“ But where’s the motive for her to kill her hus¬ 
band? ” asked Juror Curtin. 

“ Plain as the nose on your face. They quar¬ 
relled. What about? A man, or a woman. Or 
both. I’ve a notion George came into it somehow. 
And what happened? Rich folks usually rely 
on the divorce court in making a change of 
husband, or wife. But there’s a shorter cut. And 
Frank Slayton’s wife took it.” 

“ You think George had corn-promised her? ” in¬ 
quired Juror Max Schlesinger. 

“ ‘ Corn-promised,’ ” echoed Juror Hanson. 
“ You mean compromised.” 

“ I speak four languages.” Juror Schlesinger 
flushed darkly. “ How many do you speak? ” 

“ One—straight,” answered Juror Hanson. 

“ Time! ” called Juror Freddy McNeil, examin¬ 
ing his watch. 


76 



TEE PANEL CEREBRATES 


“ Opinions are well enough,” said Juror Carr. 
“ But a woman’s life is at stake here. Suppose 
somebody put the revolver in her bureau, after 
shooting Slayton.” 

“ Suppose your grandmother.” Juror Flynn was 
scornful. “ Would you expect her to say she put it 
there? What could she do but deny any knowledge 
of it? They took her by surprise. She never 
thought they’d poke through her bureau drawers. 
For once, the police showed shrewdness. 

“ Now there are the facts.” Juror Flynn tilted 
his chair back, and put his feet on the table, thus 
signifying his abandonment of the rostrum. “ Can 
anybody deny them? ” 

“ It looks pretty bad,” Juror Carr admitted. 
“ But I can’t help feeling she is the victim of cir¬ 
cumstances.” 

“ She seemed a nice lady to me.” Juror Isaac 
Hurwicz broke habitual silence with this mild ob¬ 
servation, for a moment opening wider his habit¬ 
ually half-closed eyes. 

Juror Flynn put both feet down—very emphat¬ 
ically. 

“What are we trying here, anyway?” he de¬ 
manded. “ This is no civil service examination to 
see if Frank Slayton’s wife is a good woman 
for primary school-teacher. It’s a jury session 
to say whether this woman is guilty of murder. 
If she is—and I say she is,—we’ve got to return 
a verdict of guilty. Didn’t we swear to do 

77 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

our duty? We don’t punish, her. The law does 
that.” 

“ Well,” said Foreman Bernard Stone, “ shall we 
take another ballot? ” 

« Might as well,” observed Juror Freddy McNeil. 
“ They won’t let us play poker.” 

“How shall we vote this time?” Juror Curtin 
inquired. “ Standing? Or use the cards again? ” 

“ Better stick to the cards,” said Juror Hanson. 
“ It helps to pass the time.” 

“ All right. You distribute and collect them,” 
directed the foreman. “ The rule we’ve had all the 
way through holds good. The two cards marked 
‘ Guilty ’ and 4 Innocent.’ Put the one you want to 
vote in the hat, and hold on to the other.” 

Once more the fateful bits of pasteboard were 
carefully sorted, and distributed in twos. The 
jurors received them with gingerly care. And hav¬ 
ing made their choice they looked at it, again and 
again, lest some magic change the word it bore be¬ 
fore they could register their vote. In such mo¬ 
ments each held himself aloof, keeping his ballots 
face downward. 

But the opinion of most members of the panel 
was well known to all. In the give and take of off¬ 
hand argument there had been little concealment. 
As the count proceeded interest was mainly in this 
question: “ Had any of the minority come over? ” 

Foreman Bernard Stone adjusted his glasses, and 
cleared his throat. He cleared it again as he turned 

78 


THE PANEL CEREBRATES 


the last two ballots over, and added them to the 
larger heap. 

“ The vote,” he announced, “ stands nine for con¬ 
viction, and three for acquittal.” 

A long breath bore testimony to the natural 
clemency of man. Then the voice of Juror Flynn 
rasped the silence: 

“Who is it that can’t understand the facts in 
the case? ” 

“ Yes,” said Juror Carey. “ It’s about time to 
come into the open and thrash the question out— 
man to man.” 

But pressing inquiry was prevented by the re¬ 
turn of Officer Corrigan. Still smiling ruddily, he 
stood in the doorway. 

“ I sent your messages,” he said, with a nod for 
jurors in general. “ All but yours.” 

“No?” 

Juror Hurwicz’s voice had an appealing note. 

“ Couldn’t put it through. The number you gave 
me was a pay station; and they said they had no 
messenger handy.” Something in Juror Hurwicz’s 
heavy face touched his sympathy. “ Sorry,” he 
added kindly, “ that I couldn’t wait. 

“Now what about it?” His voice was brisk 
again. “ Got a verdict for me? ” 

“ No such luck,” Juror Hanson assured him. 

“ Then I guess it’s time to feed you.” 

“Make it the theatre, too,” suggested the irre¬ 
pressible McNeil. 


79 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


u No luxuries, boy.” The officer grinned broadly. 
“ Think of what you’re costing the county. Wash 
up now. I’ll be back in five minutes.” 

“ I wonder where they’ll take us to-night,” mused 
Juror Curtin, trying to dry his expansive counte¬ 
nance on a paper towel. 

“ Cut out the Plaza idea,” remarked Juror Carey. 
“ We’ll be trotted off to some near-by joint.—as un¬ 
comfortable as possible. I think the court is get¬ 
ting tired of us, anyhow.” 

“ It has nothing on me,” said Juror McNeil. 

An officer behind, and one before, they presently 
emerged from the elevator, and passed through 
dusky, silent corridors into the street. It was early 
evening, with the vanguard of movie patrons al¬ 
ready afoot. Stares and audible conjectures were 
lavished upon them as they raggedly marched, two 
by two, with bailiffs bearing their staves of office 
guarding front and rear. 

“ I suppose they think we’re Bolsheviki on the 
way to Ellis Island,” said Juror Hanson disgust¬ 
edly. 

As they neared their destination a girl of twelve 
or so darted from the opposite curb to the side of 
Juror Hurwicz. Her appearance was so sudden, 
and her disappearance succeeding swiftly, other 
jurors only noted she was dark and thin. 

“ Your mamma? ” he questioned, bending toward 


her. 


“ Is worse, Father.” 


80 


THE PANEL CEREBRATES 


“ The doctor. What does he say? ” 

“ He won’t tell me, Father.” 

A tear rolled down her cheek. And in the eyes 
of Juror Hurwicz the lamp of love was lighted sud¬ 
denly. 

“ Father will he with you soon,” he said, patting 
her shoulder tenderly. “ Go now.” 

“ What’s this? ” Officer Corrigan came forward 
hastily. “ You can’t speak to outsiders, you 
know.” 

“ My daughter,” said Juror Hurwicz simply. 

“ Oh! All right.” The officer was suddenly mol¬ 
lified. “ That message you wanted to put through, 
I suppose.” 

The party turned into a doorway beside the wide 
window of what had been a popular saloon and all- 
night cafe. The bar was still there, but no throng¬ 
ing patrons scraped its rail with urgent feet. 
. . . The jury climbed to the second floor, and 

entered a private dining-room. Juror Carey’s fore¬ 
boding was justified. It was one of those dinners 
in which what should be hot is lukewarm, and what 
should be cold is clammy. 

But most of the panel ate with the vigor of hearty 
and hungry men, save Juror Hurwicz, whose 
hooded eyes completed the puzzle of a mask-like 
face. And Juror Clifford, by common consent 
treated as a cut above his fellow jurors, surveyed 
them dispassionately in their hour of ease. Vary¬ 
ing somewhat in age and financial circumstances, 

81 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


the composite incarnation of the middle-aged, mid¬ 
dle-class American husband and father. 

With this company “ Tiger ” Clifford, traveller, 
sportsman, and soldier, remembered in the Foreign 
Legion and in big game haunts of Asia and Africa, 
had been called to decide the fate of Leila Slayton. 
He had the air of a grand seignior. A sort of re¬ 
mote serenity other jurors liked. Sometimes he 
seemed to listen when his thoughts were far away. 

“ I suppose we’re off for the night, Phil,” sug¬ 
gested Juror Freddy McNeil, when a waiter 
brought toothpicks in a holder, with a dime repos¬ 
ing beside it as a delicate hint. 

“ Sorry to break your heart,” Officer Corrigan 
replied. “ But the judge said to take you back to 
the court-house.” 

“And him toasting his toes at home. Have a 
heart,” protested McNeil. 

“Well, I’m in the same boat,” said the officer 
amiably. “ Only there’s this difference: You can go 
out when you want to. I’ve got to stay as long as 
you keep me.” 

“ Oh, yes, we can get out,” grunted Juror Flynn, 
jamming on his hat. “ How can you let daylight 
into a blockhead? ” 

“ There’s the axe,” suggested Juror Carey. 

In silence they tramped back to the court-house. 
Never cheerful to the eye, now it frowned darkly, 
its portals closed. The guiding bailiff led on, 
through a basement door. They passed grimy en- 

82 


THE PAH EL CEREBRATES 

gineers, charwomen on their knees, scrubbing the 
stone floors. At last they reached their room of 
weary deliberation, and heard the key turn once 
more, with Officer Corrigan’s cheery counsel: 

“ Good-bye, boys. Be good.” 

“Now what are the facts of the case?” asked 
Juror Freddy McNeil, and followed the question 
with a mocking snore. 

“ You’re a funny boy, Freddy,” said Juror Carr 
gravely. “ Only remember what’s at stake.” 

“ Say,” suggested Juror Curtin, stuffing his pipe, 
“ let’s smoke a little while in peace.” 

“We came pretty near a verdict last time,” re¬ 
marked Juror Hanson. 

Foreman Bernard Stone reflected, and decreed. 

“ It can’t do any harm. You distribute and col¬ 
lect the ballots, Howard.” 

Once more the process of careful and renewed 
scrutiny. A closely guarded ballot placed in the 
serviceable hat; and a discarded ballot with equal 
care deposited face down on the table. . . . 

Again the foreman, first polishing his glasses, ex¬ 
amined the bits of pasteboard. He was very de¬ 
liberate, as if always verifying the verdict of first 
glance. As he put down the last ballot he looked 
about with eyes that questioned. Announcing the 
result, his voice trembled slightly. 

“ The vote is unanimous. All twelve are for con¬ 
viction.” 

“But I want to say,” Juror Carr hastened to 

83 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


stipulate, “ that I vote ‘ Guilty ? only on condition 
that the jury recommends mercy.” 

“ I’m no butcher.” 

Juror Flynn spoke resentfully, considering him¬ 
self addressed. 

“ Have it your own way about that.” 

“Yes. Nobody’ll kick,” assented Juror Carey. 

Juror Isaac Hurwicz shifted uneasily in his 
chair. 

“ I think I make a mistake,” he began deprecat- 
ingly. 

“No, you didn’t,” interrupted Juror Flynn. 
“ You voted right for the first time. Ring for the 
officer, Freddy.” 

“ Some ice-water,” said Juror McNeil as Officer 
Corrigan appeared in the doorway. 

“ Is it a joke? ” asked the officer. 

“ No. We’ve got it at last,” declared Juror 
Flynn. “ Does that let us out to-night? ” 

“You’ve my permission. I got a house of my 
own. ... I guess you’ll get your discharge. 
The judge is in his room now. Fix up the paper 
while I tell him you’re ready.” 

Foreman Bernard Stone adjusted his glasses. 
Then, with his duly shaken fountain-pen he began 
writing in the word “ Guilty,” with his signature as 
foreman. 

Juror Isaac Hurwicz mopped his forehead, and 
took a fresh start: 

“ But I did not mean it.” 

84 


THE PAH EL CEREBRATES 


“ It’s too late to change your mind now,” snapped 
Juror Flynn. “ The judge has been notified.” 

“But-” began Juror Hurwicz. 

The door was opened, and opened wide, as if its 
swinging signified the jury’s release. 

“ All right,” said Officer Corrigan, and 
stepped off ahead. “ Here, keep your place,” he 
added. 

With a ruddier complexion Juror Flynn fell 
back, and Foreman Stone headed the little proces¬ 
sion, moving raggedly, and with a certain reluc¬ 
tance. They sank again into well-worn cushions of 
chairs vacated two days since, and awaited the 
court’s coming. Free from avid loungers that 
thronged its sessions, the room seemed like the 
auditorium of a penitentiary. An appropriate au¬ 
dience chamber of the doomed, with its dim light 
and empty spaces. 

A door opened, and the clerk of the court came 
to his desk, spare and spectacled. His whitened 
beard and parchment-like skin were bright under 
his shaded lamp. How Leila entered, and took her 
chair. As through the trial, when not on the wit¬ 
ness stand, she was heavily veiled. Looking stead¬ 
ily at a little purse in her hands, she sat quiet and 
motionless. Mr. Kent shifted in his chair uneasily, 
after a questioning look at the jury. For they bore 
their secret of sorrow with the perturbation of sim¬ 
ple men. 

“ The Court! ” a bailiff announced curtly. 

85 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


Another brass-buttoned retainer of justice pre¬ 
ceded the judge through a swinging door by the 
bench. The assemblage rose as he entered. All but 
the defendant, who did not raise her head. Nerv¬ 
ously the judge tarried a moment by the water 
pitcher, then settled in his chair. He saw the jury, 
the defendant, the lawyers, and court officers—all 
in their respective places. Drawing his robe closer 
about his shoulders, he nodded to the clerk to pro¬ 
ceed. 

“ Mr. Foreman, and Gentlemen of the Jury,” said 
the clerk. 

The panel stood at attention. 

“ The court understands that in the case of the 
State against Slayton you have found a verdict.” 

We have,” said Foreman Stone. 

“ Will you hand the report to the officer? ” 

Officer Corrigan received the paper from a hand 
that seemed reluctant to release it, and bore it to 
the clerk. That functionary examined it impas¬ 
sively, and presented it for the inspection of the 
judge. Again the clerk received it, and turned to 
Leila, sitting statue-like at the bar. As he ad¬ 
dressed her his voice, for all its formality, was 
tinged with kindness. 

“ The defendant will please rise.” 

She stood up very straight, and of her own voli¬ 
tion faced her judges. 

“ Gentlemen of the Jury ”—the clerk read evenly 
—“ hearken unto your verdict. On your oath, you 

86 


THE PANEL CEREBRATES 

find tlie defendant guilty of tlie murder of Frank 
Slayton.” 

66 With a recommendation of mercy,” said Fore¬ 
man Bernard Stone. 

“ So say you all? ” 

“ We do,” trailed into murmurs of assent. 

Only Juror Hurwicz attempted more. 

“ I would say-” lie began in a low voice, and 

deprecatingly. 

“ Shut up! ” admonished Juror Flynn, who stood 
beside him, in a hoarse whisper. 

The judge looked at them inquiringly, sensing the 
slight disturbance, but hearing no words. As they 
stood silent, he frowned slightly, and turned his 
attention to Leila, who stood with clasped hands, 
like a woman of stone. 

u The defendant may be seated,” he directed, 
nervously adjusting his glasses. “ Her attendance 
is dispensed with until ten o’clock to-morrow morn¬ 
ing. At that time I will pronounce sentence.” 

With a sheriff on either side, and Mr. Kent, 
whose manner suggested the grief-stricken father 
more than a professional adviser, bringing up the 
rear, Leila walked quietly from the court-room. 

On her departure the overwrought instinctively 
relaxed. 

“ You may be seated, gentlemen,” said the judge, 
with a benevolent glance at the jury. “1 desire to 
express my appreciation of your conscientious dis¬ 
charge of a painful duty. How repugnant it is to 

87 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


natural instinct I well know. . . . But what 

we might forgive as individuals, we cannot condone 
as representatives of the state. The service you 
have rendered, and mine yet undischarged, are re¬ 
quired of us in the interest of law and order, with¬ 
out which society could not exist. ... Be as¬ 
sured the recommendation accompanying your ver¬ 
dict will be carefully considered. You are dis¬ 
charged, gentlemen, from further attendance.” 

For the last time to their coat room, where Officer 
Corrigan, closing one door, opened another with 
the explicit direction, “ Scat! ” 

There was little said as a grumpy elevator man 
carried them to the street floor. And they scattered 
silently at the door. 

“ There goes the Slayton jury,” said a passer-by. 

“ Must have found a verdict,” his companion sur¬ 
mised. “ I wonder what it is.” 

“ You 4 w r onder ’? ” The oracle’s voice expressed 
pity, tinged with contempt. “ Did you ever hear of 
a jury in a murder case bringing in a verdict of 
‘ Guilty ’ against a good-looking skirt? ” 


88 


CHAPTER V 


THROUGH ABRAHAM HURWICZ 

The breath of a mild morning. And the city 
basked in the moist brightness. In the parks nurse¬ 
maids were tender with policemen. And down¬ 
town, in the canyons of streets that admitted some 
beauty of the gracious sky, fruit vendors praised 
their wares with extra fervor, sometimes interpo¬ 
lating a lay of Napoli. 

On worn steps of the criminal courts building 
lounged the morally dull and the physically unfit. 
Young lawyers with hawk-like faces ran nimbly in 
and out, clutching a thin brief-case as if it were 
their open sesame. . . . The politician was 

there, usually pot-bellied and sometimes silk- 
hatted, with the symbolic cigar shifting in his 
mouth. And for such gentry bond brokers, con¬ 
stables, heelers in general, ran errands to oblige 
the master’s friends. The air was redolent of in¬ 
trigue. 

Within doors the fifth session was packed almost 
to suffocation. Bailiffs gave battle to later comers 
insistent upon standing room. . . . “ Death? 

Or life imprisonment? ”... The question 
was eagerly debated. But only the implacable, the 
idly adamant, forecasted the extreme penalty. 

89 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

Others recalled that “ Equity ” Brown, in his capac¬ 
ity as private citizen, had favored abolition of capi¬ 
tal punishment. 

So speculation was rife. Only the pigeons, 
primping in the sunshine as they roosted on the 
window-ledge, and the sob sisters and cynical young 
men of the press, busily writing their “ human in¬ 
terest ” stories for early evening editions, seemed 
unmoved by Leila Slayton's prospects. 

The district attorney entered, fingering his waxed 
mustache, and sauntered to his chair with a certain 
complacency, as one that had won a victory. En¬ 
tering a moment later, Mr. Kent brushed by him 
with the merest nod, and buried his face in the con¬ 
tents of a brief-case. 

Beside the senior counsel for defense was a va¬ 
cant chair. It had been occupied by the convicted 
woman during the trial. Would she still sit there? 
Or, being convicted, go to the dock? More food 
for speculation. A door opened, and she entered, 
—the ever-attentive police matron and a sheriff at 
her side. Without hesitation, neither shrinking nor 
conspicuously nerved to the ordeal, she walked to 
the counsel table, and took her place at Mr. Kent’s 
side. He paused for a courteous salutation. And, 
seemingly, for a word of comfort; then went on 
with his examination of a paper. 

u Gee! She’s a stingy one,” said a newspaper 
cartoonist resentful of Leila’s veil. “ If I had her 
looks, I’d never be convicted of murder,” offered a 

90 


THROUGH ABRAHAM HURWICZ 


petticoat reporter with, liberal opinions and bobbed 
hair. “ I thought she was stalling for mystery till 
she took the stand. Since then I’ve thought the 
proper defense was insanity. No woman in her 
right mind would throw away the advantage of 
good looks with a jury. With eyes like hers, I’d 
distance Theda Bara.” 

“ The Court! ” called an officer sharply. 

The judge looked ill. Clear morning light em¬ 
phasized dark shadows under his eyes, as he stooped 

^ .* 

for his customary glass of water. He settled him¬ 
self in his chair, and looked at the prosecuting 
officer. 

“ I will hear you, Mr. District Attorney, on the 
question of sentence,” he said. 

The prosecutor came to his feet, straddling 
slightly, as was his wont. 

“ May it please the Court, the case speaks for it¬ 
self. After fair trial the defendant stands con¬ 
victed of murdering her husband. Needless for me 
to point out wherein such killing is morally more 
heinous than the slaughter of a stranger. The vic¬ 
tim is struck down by one at whose hands he has a 
right to expect tenderness, love. The jury’s rec¬ 
ommendation of mercy seems to me more creditable 
to its heart than to its head. I must ask for the 
extreme penalty of the law.” 

The judge inclined his head to counsel for the 
defense. 

“ I will hear you now, Mr. Kent,” he said. 

91 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


A stalwart figure, Leila’s counsel stood for a mo¬ 
ment in meditation. Then he put in an amazing 
plea: 

“ Your Honor, if the Court will so direct, I de¬ 
sire the presence of the jury sitting in this case, 
during my remarks.” 

Lawyers within hearing looked incredulous, as if 
doubting their ears. 

“ But the jury has been discharged,” said the dis¬ 
trict attorney. 

“ The jury is here.” 

A flush of irritation came readily to the district 
attorney’s cheek. 

“ Is this some trick? ” he asked irascibly. Then, 
rising,—“ May I inquire, Your Honor, what this 
means? ” 

“ Only this, Mr. District Attorney.” Tapping 
the bench with a pencil, the judge seemed in his 
turn annoyed. “At the request of the defense, I 
have had the members of the panel recalled for at¬ 
tendance at this morning’s session. I have Mr. 
Kent’s assurance that his reason is urgent.” 

“ It seems to me,” said the district attorney, “ I 
should have been notified.” 

“ I regret,” the judge responded, “ that you were 
not.” 

“ Will the court issue the order? ” inquired im¬ 
perturbable Mr. Kent. 

“ Mr. Officer, bring in the jury,” the judge di¬ 
rected. 


92 


THROUGH ABRAHAM HURWICZ 


Once more they entered, the fateful twelve. On 
all faces wonder was written; and some mirrored 
resentment. 

“ We’re probably stuck here for the rest of our 
lives,” Juror Flynn grumbled sotto voce, with a 
sour look for mankind in general. 

“ Anyway, we got off for a night,” whispered 
back the optimistic McKeil. 

The jury watched with lively curiosity the un¬ 
heard colloquy between Mr. Kent and the clerk of 
the courts. Presently the judge gave ear for a 
moment, and nodded his assent. 

The district attorney half rose, but sank back 
into his chair as Mr. Kent turned away from the 
bench. His face expressed wonder, tinctured with 
apprehension. 

Glancing at a jury list in his hand, the clerk 
called a name: 

u Isaac Hurwicz! ” 

Juror Isaac Hurwicz sat blinking. 

“ Isaac Hurwicz! ”—the clerk called again, im¬ 
peratively. 

Urged by his companions, both right and left, 
Juror Hurwicz rose slowly. 

u Bring him here,” the judge commanded. 

A bailiff’s hand at his elbow, he crossed with the 
unhurried gait of a large animal the few yards be¬ 
tween jury box and bench. For a full minute of 
suspense that seemed to those about him intoler¬ 
ably prolonged he stood there. And the heavy fix- 

93 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


ity of Ms face was unchanged as he held his slouch 
hat before him, fingering it with both hands. 

“ Is your name Isaac Hurwicz? ” 

The judge spoke sharply. Though the juror’s 
mouth opened, no sound issued from it. 

“ What is your name? ” 

“ Abraham Hurwicz—Isaac’s brother.” 

The words came thickly, with a supreme effort of 
will. 

“ Why did you impersonate him? ” 

No answer. 

6i Take him in custody,” the judge directed. “We 
will look into this later.” 

Preceding a sheriff who pointed to a rear door, 
Abraham Hurwicz passed from the room a prisoner. 
And in his eyes, as he looked his last upon the scene 
of trial, was an expression that seemed reproach. 
With the closing of the door Mr. Kent again rose 
to address the court. 

“ Your Honor, we have proof of the truth of 
Abraham Hurwicz’s admission. Isaac and Abra¬ 
ham were twins. Both were cabinet makers. And 
they lived in the same house, a tenement building. 
Isaac, a bachelor, as a boarder in Abraham’s family. 
The name of Isaac was on the jury list. And he 
was drawn for service in the case now before the 
court. But, Your Honor, when the venire was 
issued Isaac was dead. To him, a few days previ¬ 
ously, the great summons had come. What led 
Abraham, relying upon resemblance said to have 

94 


THROUGH ABRAHAM HURWICZ 


puzzled even those well acquainted with both 
brothers, to impersonate Isaac here I am not at 
present prepared to state.” 

As the counsel for the defense paused the district 
attorney came to his feet with a belligerent inquiry: 

“ Does my brother insinuate that the district at¬ 
torney’s office had anything to do with the fraud? ” 

Mr. Kent smiled. 

“ My brother,” he said ironically, “ is needlessly 
troubled. I had not thought of suspecting him, or 
any member of his staff. On the contrary, I am 
sure he will join me in asking that the jury’s verdict 
of * Guilty ’ be set aside,—for the reason that a 
stranger participated in deliberations of the panel. 
And further, Your Honor, that a new trial be or¬ 
dered.” 

The district attorney did not at once respond. 
Pondering the situation, he tugged at his mustache 
nervously. With a look of displeasure the judge 
turned to Mr. Kent. 

“ There can be no question,” he observed, “ of the 
justice of your request. Mr. Clerk, enter the order 
for a new trial.” 

With “ Yes, Your Honor,” the clerk turned to his 
docket. 

The counsel for defense again addressed the 
court. 

“ Your Honor, I now ask that the defendant, Mrs. 
Slayton, be admitted to bail. She has been some 
months in custody. And the strain of that period, 

95 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


with tlie trial just ended, has been heavy. So heavy 
her health is impaired. We pray you, therefore, 
that she be released pending the trial ordered, with 
bond in such sum as the court directs.” 

“ Is that agreeable to the state? ” the judge in¬ 
quired. 

“ I object,” snapped the district attorney. 

“ On what ground? ” pursued the court. 

“ I see no reason why this defendant should be 
accorded special privileges.” 

The judge flushed. 

“ I asked your view,” he said with asperity, “ as 
a district attorney. Not as an elder brother of the 
court.” 

“ Bail is never accepted in murder cases.” 

“ 1 Seldom,’ Mr. District Attorney, is a better 
word than 4 Never.’ The statute does not forbid. 
In the present case I shall exercise my discretion, 
and grant Mr. Kent’s petition.” 

“ But-” began the district attorney. 

“ I do not care to hear you further. Can you 
furnish sureties in the sum of fifty thousand dol¬ 
lars, Mr. Kent? ” 

“ Yes, Your Honor. We stand ready to furnish 
twice that sum, if desired.” 

“ Fifty thousand, Mr. Clerk,” the judge directed. 
“ Enter the order. Court stands adjourned until 
two o’clock this afternoon.” 

With the crier’s stentorian, “ Hear ye! ” still 
ringing through the court-room the judge picked up 

96 



THROUGH ABRAHAM HURWICZ 


his papers and disappeared by a door behind the 
bench. Next the defendant passed swiftly from 
view, her counsel striding after her. The reporters 
vanished, with attendant artists and messenger 
boys, racing for their respective offices like whip¬ 
pets speeded to a mark. Only the district attorney 
was left, a discomfited leading actor. 

The “ I told you so ” wiseacre had nothing to 
say, as the crowd jostled its way down the winding 
iron stairs. 

“ She’s got a horseshoe all right,” observed a 
scrubby-mustached man. 

“ How? ” asked his elbowing intimate of the mo¬ 
ment. 

“ ‘ How ’? Why, convicted of murder, got a new 
trial, and let out on bail—all in twenty-four hours. 
Can you beat it? ” 

“ Well, it does seem pretty good luck.” 

Meantime the object of their felicitations sat in 
a detention room of the court-house, as rigid as 
when she had faced the district attorney’s blasting 
attack. 

“ Come, my dear. You must relax,” said Mr. 
Kent, patting her shoulder paternally. 

u How can I? ” A light fan snapped in her hand 
clenched with sudden passion. “ It is all so in¬ 
delible.” 

“ Not 6 indelible/ ” he said. “ We’ll wipe the 
black mark out in the next trial. Now I want you 
to rest.” 


97 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ I’ll try.” Her voice was suddenly unsteady. 
And tears long denied came to her eyes. u You 
have been very good to me. Believe I am grateful.” 

“ Yes, my dear. I understand. And here is 
Marie.” With a man’s fear of a scene he turned to 
the waiting maid. “ Is the motor outside? ” 

“ Yes, Monsieur.” 

As she answered she was busy, with loving touch 
smoothing Leila’s hair and tying her veil. 

“ Then we’ll go.” Suiting action to speech, he 
opened a door revealing a spiral staircase. No 
word was spoken as they descended in single file. 

“ This way,” he said when they reached the floor 
below, and led on through a dark corridor from 
which they stepped suddenly into the brightness of 
noon. Almost unnoticed, they gained the waiting 
car. 

“ I will telephone in a few days,” the lawyer 
promised. 

Closing the door with a courtly salutation, he 
turned away. With factory whistles signifying re¬ 
lease to many that labored ringing in her ears, Leila 
began the long ride up-town. She, too, was re¬ 
leased. But not acquitted. Society, which had 
petted her, held her still in the thrall of indictment 
for a monstrous crime. 


98 


CHAPTER YI 


A FRUITLESS INTERVIEW 

Captain Clifford looked at the papers scattered 
about him with disdain. “ Slayton!!” screamed 
every visible page. 

“ Poor girl,” said the captain, and kicked the last 
sheet away. As the smoke of his cigar rose in a 
slow spiral his eyes followed it. But his thoughts 
were far away. . . . There was something as¬ 

cetic in his expression. A short man and slight, 
with the flexible strength of fine steel. In moments 
of repose only the high-bridged nose carried a sug¬ 
gestion of command. And hooded eyes would some¬ 
times—but rarely—open with a flash recalling his 
sobriquet—“ Tiger.” 

A knock at the door broke in upon his medita¬ 
tion. 

“ What is it, Pat? ” he asked, as a hearty Irish 
face appeared with the door’s slight opening. 

“ Did you ring, Captain? ” 

“ No, Pat.” 

The captain appeared to forget his servant’s pres¬ 
ence. From Patrick Hallahan’s face it was evident 
he hoped for further speech. A garrulous, trans¬ 
parent, faithful soul. Butler, valet, and courier in 
one. He was even a chauffeur when Captain Clif- 

99 


IN THE TEETH MOON 

ford dwelt in haunts of civilization long enough to 
need a motor. Now he held his position at the door, 
marking his presence with a propitiatory cough. 

“ Patrick / 7 said the captain. 

“ Yes, Captain / 7 hopefully. 

“ I won't need you again to-night . 77 

Disappointment written large gave way to nat¬ 
ural amiability. 

“ Thank you, Captain. And I hope you rest 
well . 77 

A moment’s silence. 

“ Oh, Pat- 77 

“ Yes, Captain . 77 

“ If you happen to feel like riding in the park, 
and that pretty lady’s maid on the floor below 
agrees it would be a pleasant thing to do, you may 
exercise the car. And what you need to spend may 
be charged in your repair bill . 77 

“ You’re too good to me, Captain,” declared Pat¬ 
rick fervidly. “ They was saying down-stairs that 
you’re a fine gentleman. It’s well I know it. May 
you always have the best of luck, sir.” 

Departing effusively, Patrick neglected to close 
the door. The captain remedied his oversight, and 
stood gazing about his pleasant domain. Tweaking 
the dew-lap of a dignified moose, he took a carved 
cross of ivory from its open case and examined it 
with solicitude. Then he locked it in a mahogany 
box and strolled to the window. 

Night was soft in the pleasant darkness of 

100 



A FRUITLESS INTERVIEW 


Gramercy Park. Something in the scene touched a 
spring of memory. He seemed to expand as he 
gazed. And his arms thrust out in a violent ges¬ 
ture, as if to widen open spaces. 

“ Out! ” 

He uttered the word as a shibboleth. With eager 
energy he possessed himself of hat and coat. And, 
stick in hand, turned to the door like one belated. 

But the Captain Clifford who emerged two flights 
below was the captain his American friends knew. 
With the air of one whose promenade is eternity 
he strolled toward a club fixed in its down-town 
place by the founder’s memory. The portrait of 
that tragedian who had found life a so painful 
mystery, and in spiritual adversity established an 
ever lustrous name magnetized the captain beyond 
most living men’s society. Drawn by its fascina¬ 
tion, once more he made slight obeisance and seated 
himself before it. Before those sad, imperious eyes 
he fell to dreaming. 

Unwelcome the hearty hand on his shoulder, and 
the accompanying voice: 

“ Hullo, Clifford. Thinking of the jungle? ” 

“ ISTo,” he said, aud turned to look at the accoster, 
whose eyes travelled in the embarrassment of un¬ 
anticipated complication from the captain to his 
companion, a young man like himself dressed for 
the street. 

“ Do you know Captain Clifford, Slayton? ” ha 
asked with heightened color. 

101 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“No.” With undisguised interest George Slay¬ 
ton regarded the lounging figure before him. “ But 
I am happy to meet him.” 

The captain rose with a courteous bow. 

“We are going on,” their introducer remarked. 
“ See you soon, Clifford.” 

“ Do you mind, Burr, if I stay to chat a bit with 
the captain? I wanted to meet him.” 

Slayton spoke abruptly. 

“ Sure, George. See you soon.” 

One Burr went his way in obvious confusion. 

“We can talk here,” the captain observed. 
“ Though this club is apt to be too sociable for con¬ 
fidences. Why not come to my rooms? That is, if 
there’s really something of special interest you 
want to say to me. It isn’t far. Only the other side 
of the park.” 

“ Thanks. Let’s do that.” 

“A pretty evening,” said the captain, as they 
stepped into the open air. 

“ You must think me queer.” 

Slayton swung his stick nervously. 

“ Not at all,” the captain assured him. “ You 
want to see me about something. And providence 
provides the opportunity. What more natural than 
to avail yourself of it? Perfectly natural, and 
quite right.” 

With little commonplaces they crossed the 
square, and climbed the stairs to the captain’s 
rooms. 


102 


A FRUITLESS INTERVIEW 


u A moment, please,” said tlie captain, reaching 
for a switch. “ There.” As light flooded the room, 
he pushed a leather chair a little nearer the table, 
and turned to his guest at the threshold with a ges¬ 
ture of invitation. 

Slayton stepped in with a glance that involun¬ 
tarily inventoried the scene. “ Pleasant rooms you 
have here.” 

“ Simple, and quiet. I like them because Pve 
had them so long. They make one of the few stable 
attachments of my wandering life.” 

“ No doubt about the wandering. It’s a great lot 
of trophies.” Slayton set tentative foot on a leop¬ 
ard skin that seemed still to hold the potential 
snarl of life. “ Where do you keep the bear, tiger 
and lion skins; elephant tusks, et cetera, you 
couldn’t get in here? ” 

The captain smiled. 

“ Oh, I have a few in friends’ houses. And I gave 
some to museums. Take a look around, if such 
things amuse you.” 

“ Thanks.” Slayton promptly availed himself of 
the invitation. “ I’ve shot a good bit in this coun¬ 
try.” 

“ That’s a bond,” said the captain cordially. As 
Slayton moved about fingering some firearm, ap¬ 
praising the spread of antlers, or testing the texture 
of a flossy skin, his host studied him with half- 
closed eyes. He was twenty-five, or so, and tall and 
strong. His face was one by nature meant to smile. 

103 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


But care had darkened his eyes of blue. And 
lines of bitter tension marked the corners of his 
mouth. 

“ Looks overstrained,” the captain mentally 
noted. “ And likely to break down.” 

Not turning, Slayton seemed to feel his scrutiny. 
When he next spoke, try as he would, his voice be 
trayed nervous strain. 

“ Perhaps you can answer a question for me.” 

“ I trust so,” said the captain politely. 

“ IPs about—our case.” 

A painful pause punctuated the statement. 

The captain showed no surprise. 

“ Much as it would delight me,” he observed, “ to 
think this first visit due to myself alone, I suj)posed 
there must be another reason. Sit down, won’t 
you? And have a cigar. That’s better. Now what 
can I tell you? ” 

Slayton drove straight to the point, his eyes on 
the captain’s face. 

“ Leila’s lawyer tells me you had something to do 
with exposing that bogus juror. Was ‘ Hurwicz ’ 
the name? ” 

“ Yes,” said the captain. “ Hurwicz was the 
name. It happened in a singular way that I was 
able to be of service. For that matter, my sitting 
as a juror in the case was a queer turn of chance. 
Do you mind if I go back a bit? ” 

“Not the least.” But Slayton looked disap¬ 
pointed. 

io; 


A FRUITLESS INTERVIEW 


The captain pulled more strongly at 3iis cigar; 
and comfortably crossed bis feet. 

“ Picture me strolling placidly to my agent’s of¬ 
fice. And abruptly a heavy hand on my shoulder. 
I am in the clutch of a large policeman, who re¬ 
gards me sternly. What wrong have I done? 
Spoken ill of the excellent Harding? Or carried a 
flask from my apartment to the club? 

“ ‘ What is your name? ’ he demands. 

“ 6 Thomas Clifford,’ I answer meekly. 

“ 6 Are you a citizen? ’ 

“ 4 1 suppose so,’ I reply, never having, as they 
say, abjured my allegiance. 

“ ‘ Ever convicted of any crime? ’ he continues. 

“ c No,’ I answer without the slightest hesitation. 

“ ‘ Come with me.’ 

“‘Am I not entitled to counsel?’ I ask, being 
already under way, and vigorously persuaded. A 
grunt was his only answer. A little ju-jitsu would 
have sufficed. But one doesn’t relish fighting with 
a policeman before a crowd of hucksters and curb 
brokers. 

“Not to report the thing too literally,—by more 
grunts, monosyllables, and slightly more extrava¬ 
gant expressions, my captor acquainted me with the 
fact that I had been taken as a possible juror. A 
list had been exhausted, and officers sent out to 
pick up a fresh supply. When he mentioned the 
name * Slayton ’ I said to myself—Pray, pardon the 
expression,—‘ Here is an adventure.’ 

105 


IN TEE TENTH MOON 


B 1 “ I had read of the case, and its circumstances 
interested me. There is something in Mrs. Slay¬ 
ton's face like one long ago I knew. A woman of 
rare poise, Slayton." 

Slayton nodded, but did not answer. 

“ The singularity of my connection is complete," 
the captain pursued, “ in the fact that neither side 
challenged me as a juror." 

“I wonder at your willingness to serve," said 
Slayton. 

“ Naturally. Well, it seemed somehow an oppor¬ 
tunity of service—I am quite superstitious about 
such impressions. And I am very curious concern¬ 
ing the operations of human nature." 

“ That's one way of looking at it. But"—Slay¬ 
ton paused for a moment's undisguised examination 
of the captain's face, “you are one of the twelve 
men who voted to send Leila to the electric chair." 

The captain turned his eyes from the stuffed 
state of a Siberian tiger to meet the gaze of his 
inquisitor. 

“ Of course, that is something you cannot under¬ 
stand. And yet it is simple enough. As you will 
see. Now that the trial is over, I have not the least 
objection to disclosing what happened in the jury 
room. On the contrary, I welcome the opportunity 
to explain myself. 

“ As you know, the jury wrangled the better part 
of two days. I kept my finger on its pulse. And 
in the closing hours of the trial, even before the 

106 


A FRUITLESS INTERVIEW 


first hour in the jury room, it was evident that a 
majority were strongly in favor of conviction. 
They were rather led by a fellow named Flynn. 
He had powerful lungs, and the mind of a child, 
with this difference: The mind of a child is open 
to appeal. But the mind of an opinionated adult is 
cased in prejudice. 

“ Flynn distrusted me at first. I overheard his 
anticipation I would be ‘stuck-up.’ So I played 
him with what tact I possessed, and won his good¬ 
will. But I could not shake his conviction of Mrs. 
Slayton’s guilt. With the majority behind him, it 
seemed the part of wisdom to lie low, taking care to 
keep a few votes for acquittal. A disagreement 
would give the defense a second chance, with the 
advantage of knowing the state’s case.” 

“Very interesting,” conceded Slayton, as the 
captain reached for a cigarette. “ But I don’t fol¬ 
low it to the end. The jury brought in a. verdict 
of guilty.” 

The captain nodded, with a gesture of depreca¬ 
tion. 

“ I must plead guilty to miscalculation. 
Throughout, the voting was a pretty open proceed¬ 
ing, though supposedly secret after they swung 
from verbal declaration to printed ballots. In later 
stages the vote was steadily nine for conviction to 
three for acquittal. That is, up to the last dis¬ 
astrous poll. 

“ I had no doubt that Carr, an amiable, middle- 

107 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


aged muddler, and the man Hurwicz were my as¬ 
sociates of the minority. Carr, because he was a 
sentimentalist, and thought Flynn tried to bully 
him. Hurwicz, because he seemed fortified in stolid 
belief that Mrs. Slayton was innocent. 

“ So it went unchanged until the last night, and 
the last ballot. Then it occurred to me to change 
the monotonous nine to three, just for one ballot, 
and revive interest in deliberations that had de¬ 
generated into dull and rather sour personalities. I 
could swing back to the minority the next time. 
For no other juror would know whose vote was 
changed. 

“ Imagine my surprise when the foreman an¬ 
nounced twelve votes for conviction. Carr had suc¬ 
cumbed to pressure at last, with a stipulation that 
mercy be recommended. Hurwicz amazed me more. 
I had thought him immovable. Truth to tell, I 
think he meant to keep on voting ‘ Not Guilty/ but 
cast a vote for conviction by mistake. He started 
a statement, seemingly to that effect, and was 
squelched by Flynn. Then they rushed the vote 
out to the judge post-haste. Now do you see how 
the verdict came about? ” 

Slayton regarded him a little coldly. 

“ You make the process plain enough,” he said 
after a slight pause. “But I don’t quite under¬ 
stand how, believing in Mrs. Slayton’s innocence, 
and knowing her life to be at stake, you could take 
the risk you did in reversing your vote.” 

108 


A FRUITLESS INTERVIEW 


The captain winced. 

“ It was wrong,” he admitted frankly. “ In 
purely personal affairs I have taken great risks; 
and doubtless shall again. One’s self he knows, 
and may depend upon. But it is wrong to gamble 
with the chances of another.” 

Slayton nodded, but withheld comment. He 
was examining the carving of an ivory horse¬ 
man, and asked his next question without looking 
up. 

“ Do you mind telling me how you learned Hur- 
wicz was an impostor? ” 

“ Personally, I’d be glad to tell you. But certain 
considerations not of my making forbid me to do so 
at present. But this I will say. Mr. Kent has my 
promise of full explanation at some later date, if 
he thinks it vital to Mrs. Slayton’s interests. Will 
that content you? ” 

Slayton reached for his gloves on the table beside 

him. 

“ Well,” he observed without asperity, “ you 
know best. Thanks for what you have told me. 
And forgive me, please, for coming as a sort of 
inquisitor to your rooms.” 

“ Nonsense.” 

The captain rose with a gesture of hospitable 
entreaty. “And don’t go yet. Now the question 
is off your mind, stay for pure sociability, and a 
glass of Madeira. It’s really prime.” 

“Not a doubt of it, and you’re very kind.” A 

109 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


smile momentarily erased Slayton’s expression of 
settled gravity. “ But I must be getting on.” 

“ Sorry. If I may ask, what’ll you be up to in 
the near future? ” 

“ Just one thing.” 

Slayton’s jaw stiffened, and for a moment his 
eyes shone with the icy glitter old Jabez’s enemies 
knew. 

“ It’s my job to find the man whose conviction 
will set Leila free.” 

The captain extended a hand strongly grasped. 

“ Good luck to you. And where may I reach you, 
if it happens I have a suggestion to make? ” 

“ The Racquet Club is the best address.” 

“ You’re not staying at your father’s house? ” 

66 No. I thought it best not to, under the cir¬ 
cumstances.” Flushing slightly, Slayton added— 
" Leila will be there. And you know some rotten 
insinuations came from that rat of a district at¬ 
torney during the trial.” 

The captain nodded. 

“ You’re quite right. And let me give you some 
advice, Slayton. Try to let down a bit. You look 
overstrained.” 

“ Thanks. I do feel a bit wobbly at times.” 

“ Better relax all you can. Let me be your doc¬ 
tor. I prescribe the Army and Navy game to-mor¬ 
row. Won’t you come with me? ” 

“ You’re extremely land,” Slayton responded 
after a moment’s hesitation. “ But I’m not in the 

110 


A FRUITLESS INTERVIEW 

mood just now. And I never fancied the role of 
kill-joy.” 

“ Done,” said the captain. “ You had no engage¬ 
ment for the afternoon. Now you have one with 
me. I have two seats in Admiral Wheeler’s box. 
Quinine on the waters; or, rather, in the swamp. 
I gave him some once in an African camp. What 
do you say to an early start? There’ll be pretty 
girls, I suppose. According to the newspapers, no 
other kind ever attend a college football game. 
And there’s the navy goat, you know, and the army 
mule, not to mention the admirals, with other in¬ 
stitutions.” 

Slayton’s face still registered indecision. 

“ Suppose you lunch early with me, and here,” 
the captain went on. “ Say twelve-thirty.” 

“ But I wish you’d lunch with me,” Slayton pro¬ 
tested. 

“ Not this time. After some cobwebs are cleared 
away. You owe me a fair start for this evening.” 

u As you wish, then. Good-bye.” 

Slayton picked his way down heavily shadowed 
stairs with a puzzled look. Closing the door after 
him, the captain poured himself a glass of Madeira 
with precise care, and seated himself with Beaude- 
laire. 

“ Poor fellow,” he murmured as he turned the 
leaves. “ It’s a pity.” 


Ill 



CHAPTER VII 


THE GAGE IS GIVEN 

The Slayton lions yawned in the morning sun¬ 
light. They had no concern with the sorrow of old 
Jabez’s daughter-in-law,—the widow, and alleged 
slayer of his son. 

Within the mansion Leila Slayton woke, for the 
first time in months at home. She woke, and stared 
at the rich appointments of her chamber, for the 
moment bewildered. With those months in prison 
iron bars and deep dinginess had come to be fixed 
realities. And freedom, comfort—but teasing 
dreams. 

In the night just past, memory of some prisoner’s 
frenzied scream had brought to piercing climax a 
feverish dream. She had wakened, with ears in¬ 
stinctively alert for the booming voice of a great 
clock that in the prison world spaced dark hours. 

Then, feeling silken coverlet instead of coarse 
woolen blanket, with a shuddering sigh of relief she 
had relaxed on her pillow. And after a time slept 
again. So the morning came, with that accession 
of strength that in youth follows even the darkest 
night. 

Tentatively, somewhat doubtful even of her im- 

112 



THE GAGE IS GIVEN 


pression, she pressed a button at her bedside. And 
presently Marie appeared, her eyes of brown mir¬ 
rors of solicitude. Reassured by her first look, she 
came swiftly forward and, kneeling, kissed her mis¬ 
tress’s hand. 

“ You are glad to have me back, Marie? ” said 
Leila with a little smile. 

u Oh, Madame! It is so good.” 

Tears of joy fell upon Leila’s hand. 

“ Don’t cry, Marie.” 

Her own voice was unsteady. 

“ Forgive me, Madame. Shall I brush your hair 
before you have your chocolate? ” 

“ I think you may. And bring me a mirror, 
please.” 

Gazing a moment, she put the glass down with a 
sigh. 

“Am I much changed, Marie?” she asked pres¬ 
ently. 

“ Only a little pale, Madame. And your hair so 
beautiful. Nothing,” jealously, “ can harm it.” 

With tender zeal she fell to brushing waves of 
lustrous gold that swept sculptural shoulders. But 
soon she suspended to gaze with adoring eyes. 

u Madame is beautiful.” 

“ Once I wished to be.” 

At the look of entreaty in Marie’s revealing eyes 
sadness stamping Leila’s face gave way to a wry 
smile. 

“ Forgive me for teasing you, Marie,” she said, 

113 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


with a caressing touch. “ Did you get the hair¬ 
dresser for me this morning? ” 

“ Yes, Madame. Dora will be here at half-past 

ten.” 

“It’s nearly that now. I will have breakfast 
here.” 

“ Yes, Madame.” 

Marie turned to go, but paused at the door. 

“What shall we do,” she asked apologetically, 
“ with the men from newspapers? ” 

“ Reporters! ” Leila put out her hand with a 
gesture of aversion. “ Send them away.” 

“But they will not go, Madame.” 

“ Then let them stay—on the steps. Tell Carlin 
I am not at home to anyone.” 

“ Yes, Madame. But Mr. George telephones he 
will call.” 

Quick color dyed Leila’s cheek, and almost as 
swiftly receded. 

“ That is different,” she said. “ It is his father’s 
house, and I have no right to keep him out. Did 
he ask you to tell me, Marie? ” 

“ Yes, Madame.” 

“ And did he say when he would come? ” 

“ Alter eleven.” 

“ Breakfast at once, Marie.” 

It was unfinished wiien the hair-dresser was an¬ 
nounced. And presently a maid ushered Dora in. 
She entered with effusive greeting. For Dora in 
her way was a personage, a privileged character.. 

114 


THE GAGE IS GIVEN 


Her world, and she exercised proprietary feeling, 
was the society she served. She took unto herself 
triumphs of women upon whom she lavished her art 
of coiffure. And their adventures she deemed vi¬ 
cariously her own. To gossipy patrons she was a 
reporter of proceedings unchronicled by Town 
Topics or the daily press. She had seen two social 
generations bloom and wane. And each year her 
hair was seen more vividly red. On the assump¬ 
tion that institutions do not marry, it was mali¬ 
ciously asserted she supported a lover. 

Dora advanced upon Mrs. Slayton with out¬ 
stretched hands. 

“ My dear! Isn’t it splendid? You know what 
I mean. I am so happy to have you again. It’s 
been such a long time. But that’s all over now.’ 7 

“ ]STot yet, Dora.” 

“ But it’s perfectly certain to be.” 

“ I trust so. At any rate, I have you now. I am 
sorry it must be a short session this time. You 
know,” with a little smile, “ there’s magic for tired 
heads, Dora, in your hands.” 

“ They do say so.” 

Dora was busily preparing for labor. Conver¬ 
sation came to the fore again with the first deft 
strokes. 

“ I was thinking of you last night, Mrs. Slayton. 77 

“ You were? 77 

“ Yes. When I was doing Nina Baxter’s hair for 
the Sperry dance. Her hair isn’t much like yours. 

115 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


Jet black, if ever I saw it. But ber character re¬ 
minds me so much of you.” 

A few moments of the artist’s experimentation, 
and Dora resumed. 

“ Yes, I’m sure you must have been much the 
same. In your first season, didn’t you think more 
of trees, and cows, and green fields than you did of 
men? ” 

Leila smiled. 

“ I lived very quietly, Dora, before I was mar¬ 
ried.” 

“ That makes no difference, my dear. Men are 
men; the same everywhere.” 

A brief silence, and Leila closed her eyes in sheer 
delight of fingers tender as benedictions. But they 
opened again with the intensity of Dora’s next ob¬ 
servation. 

“ It’s better to love God than a man, dear. He 
won’t care if you lose your figure, and your hair 
grows thin.” 

“ Is anything wrong, Dora? ” 

“Ho, dear. Thank you for asking. Those are 
just thoughts that may come to you when you are 
my age. Some women, though, are after men to 
their last days. Have you heard of old Mrs. Sibert’s 
latest? ” 

Assuming interest, Dora plunged into the lively 
story of an old coquette’s infatuation with a mer¬ 
cenary youth. And so on, with vivid handling of 
society’s peccadillos. To Leila, relaxed in the spell 

116 


THE GAGE IS GIVEN 


of her hands, it was all no more than the light fall 
of surf on a distant shore. But presently she was 
conscious of Marie, who stood in the doorway be¬ 
hind her, and pointed significantly at a mantel 
clock about to strike eleven. 

“ I ? m afraid I must let you go now,” she said to 
Dora, answering Marie with her eyes. “ It’s good 
to have you again.” 

“ Thanks, my dear.” 

Dora stepped aside to view her work with pro¬ 
fessional pride. Then added in a burst of en¬ 
thusiasm : 

“ I’d so like to do your hair for a wedding. Your 
own, I mean.” 

“ Dora! ” 

Leila’s neck and brow were flooded with a crim¬ 
son tide. 

“ That’s beautiful color, my dear.” Dora viewed 
her quite unperturbed. “ Let me tell you few girls 
can blush that way now even in their first season. 
As for marrying ”—Dora snapped the fastening of 
her case briskly—“ what’s the harm in that? ‘ If 
at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’ I think 
that’s a nice motto.” 

“ You are incorrigible, Dora.” 

But Leila smiled. 

“ So they all say, dear. And I guess I always 
will be. It seems to me it’s better to laugh than to 
cry. When will you be wanting me again? ” 

“ Soon, Dora. I will telephone. Marie will go 

117 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


down with, you now. And if there are any reporters 
at the door ”—she hesitated a moment, then went 
on: “ I suppose they are only earning their living. 
But don’t talk with them, please. And don’t let 
them come in.” 

“ She’s perfectly astonishing,” gushed Dora as 
they went down the stairs. “ After all she’s been 
through. Enough to kill an ox, I say. And not a 
trace of it in her appearance.” 

“ Madame is very nervous,” began Marie. “ But ” 
—she rounded her observation with a heartfelt 
tribute: “ Madame is very wonderful.” 

The hounds of the press had retreated for a 
while. But a man of thirty or thereabouts waited 
for Dora across the street. Watching them as they 
turned the corner together, George Slayton noted 
he was tall and athletic appearing, though carrying 
more weight than would be prescribed for one of his 
apparent years. He was dark and black-haired, 
with a heavy mustache that suggested a pair of 
scrubbing brushes. 

“Who is that man?” Slayton asked as Marie 
returned from the door. 

“ That is Dora’s husband, sir.” 

“ Are you sure? ” 

“ Well, sir.” Surprise tinged her voice. “ She 
told me so. He has waited for her other times.” 

“ What does he do, Marie? ” He was feeling in 
his pockets for a match. “ I mean, what does he 
do when he isn’t waiting for Dora? ” 

118 


THE GAGE 18 GIVEN 


“ His job? ” 

Uncertainty vanished from Marie’s brow. 

“ Dora has told me be is a policeman without 
clothes.” 

For a moment a quick smile made Slayton’s face 
seem boyish again. 

“ You mean,” he corrected, “ he is a plain-clothes 
man.” 

“ Oh, yes, sir. That is it.” 

Marie smiled in her turn. 

“ What is his name, Marie? ” 

“ I am sorry, sir. I do not know that.” 

“ But what is Dora’s name? ” 

“ Just 6 Dora,’ sir, is all the name I have heard.” 

“ I see. A true celebrity, like Lotta, or Na¬ 
poleon.” 

He found a match, and lighted a cigarette. From 
the floor above came the sound of a bell. 

“ Will you excuse me, sir? Madame is ringing. 
Shall I tell her you are here? ” 

“ Yes, thank you, Marie.” 

As the click of her heels sounded briskly on the 
stairs, he turned again to the window. With their 
fixed yawn, the lions crouched by the steps ignored 
passers-by. And Slayton was no more attentive. 
Unsmoked, his cigarette burned on, until he 
dropped it with a twinge of scorched fingers. 

“ I’m mooney this morning,” he confided to him¬ 
self, as he picked the butt up gingerly, and carried 
it to the fireplace. 


119 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


His heart pounded, despite his effort to bring its 
beat down. And conversely the clock on the mantel 
seemed to tick ever more deliberately—retarding 
the flight of time. Twice he glanced at his watch, 
and replaced it impatiently. 

Once he thought he heard her, and rose eagerly. 
But there was only silence on the stairs. Again he 
sank into his capacious chair, staring at the sat¬ 
urnine face of a Burmese idol. 

What if she did not come? She had not promised 
to receive him. 

“ Why so dreamy? ” 

Her voice brought him to his feet. It was like 
contact with an electric spark. She stood in the 
doorway, its hangings of blue a perfect frame. 

“ Leila! ” he said, then gazed in inarticulate 
longing. 

Her eyes answered, as she stood there very still. 
Her glance searched his soul. 

Something chained him to the spot, the while he 
saw, as one in hours of loneliness burnishes a pre* 
cious memory, the face and figure that he loved. 
The short, proud nose; the eyes of unfathomable 
blue, with sweeping lashes. The shining glory that 
covered her small, proud head. And the mobile 
mouth once used to laughter. 

His soul was in his eyes. And the message half¬ 
divine flashed to hers. Her hand came quickly to 
her heart, as the quick blood stained her cheek. 

“ Leila! ” he said again, and no longer stayed 

120 


THE GAGE IS GIVEN 


impetuous feet. Another step, and his arms would 
close around her. 

“ Please? ” 

His arms fell, empty. 

“ Don’t make it too hard for me.” 

“ But you love me.” 

In his voice, so charged with yearning, was a 
certain fierceness daring denial. 

" You forget I am your brother’s wife.” 

“ You are not.” 

He spoke violently. 

“ His widow, then, if you will. And some say 
his murderer.” 

“ For God’s sake, don’t, Leila. When I think of 
all you have suffered it breaks my heart. And I 
could do nothing to help you.” 

He turned away to hide the tears in his eyes, and 
stared half-blind at the sunlit street. She put out 
her hand to touch his shoulder, but let it fall with 
a gesture of despair. She was very pale. And the 
hand hidden behind her clutched the porti&re for 
support. But her voice was still steady. 

“ You must not reproach yourself. It was some¬ 
thing I had to bear alone.” 

“ But now we must work together for happi¬ 
ness.” 

“ ( Happy ’? Shall I ever be happy again? ” 

He swept on insistently. 

“ You said that night you could never be happy 
without me. And I know you spoke the truth. 

121 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

You cannot deceive me, now I liave held you in my 
arms.” 

Her eyes kindled a moment. But shadows re¬ 
turned. She looked past him, absorbed in some 
vision of a dark future. When she spoke again her 
voice was tender,—without hope. 

“ That was madness, dear. Madness for us both. 
And the fault was mine. I should have sent you 
away. Only I thought we might keep what was 
beautiful without taint.” 

“ Honor,” he said bitterly. “ And what had my 
brother to do with honor? He stole you from me.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

Her voice sharpened. 

“ This I never told you before. A letter asking 
you to marry me was stolen by my brother’s serv¬ 
ant, acting under his orders, while I lay convales¬ 
cing in his rooms in London.” 

“ He couldn’t have been so base as that.” 

Though her heart could not speak for him, some¬ 
thing made her lips advocate of the dead. 

“ You say that? And you lived with him three 
years.” 

She flinched at his reproach, and he paused 
abruptly. 

“ Forgive me,” he begged, and went on with quiet 
intensity. 

“ Let us be honest, Leila. You know you never 
loved him. That was impossible. You knew the 
Jekyll and Hyde of him. There were two Franks. 

122 


THE GAGE IS f GIVEN 


The model young business man, the church warden, 
and political reformer. That one the world saw. 
Behind the scenes we knew his truer self,—disso¬ 
lute, and selfish to the core.” 

He opened his hands with a gesture of aver¬ 
sion. 

“ It is hard to speak so of one’s dead brother. 
But it is the truth. He knew my feeling, and seem¬ 
ingly never cared. So we went on posing before the 
world as Jabez Slayton’s properly affectionate sons. 
. . . What’s the matter, Leila? ” 

She swayed, and clutched at the portiere for 
support. 

u I’m a little faint,” she said, with an effort at a 
smile. “ I think I must rest.” 

He was at her side instantly, his supporting arm 
about her. Unresisting, she permitted him to es¬ 
tablish and bolster her in a great chair. 

“ Shall I ring for some wine? ” he asked anx¬ 
iously. “ Or your maid? ” 

“ Neither. I am steady again now. Go on.” 

“ But I feel a brute. Hadn’t I better finish an¬ 
other time? ” 

“ There may not be another time, dear.” 

He took the blow, and mastered it, with deeper 
graving in sad chiselling about his mouth. 

“ That may be,” he said quietly. “ But I shall 
fight for happiness, our happiness, with all my 
strength. And no false notion of consideration for 
the dead shall close my mouth.” 

123 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


Her eyes questioned, but she did not speak. 

“You knew I cared for you, almost from the 
first glance. That to me the nurse was lost in the 
woman. But I never spoke, fearing to lose both. I 
did mean to tell you at last, that night I left the 
hospital. Frank prevented. He had come to take 
me to his London rooms. ... I realize now he 
meant then to come between us. He managed that 
night to be always in the way. . . . But you 

must have known I cared, Leila.” 

“ I had thought so. But you see, he asked me if 
you were flirtatious as usual. And how could I 
know what to believe? ” 

“ He was clever.” Bitterness again roughened 
Slayton’s voice. “ And thwarting me always gave 
him pleasure. Still, to give the devil his due, I be¬ 
lieve he began then to care for you as much as one 
so self-centred could.” 

“ He was very good to me,” she said hesitantly— 
“ for a while.” 

He winced. When he took up his story again the 
effort for composure strained his voice to metallic 
monotony that nowise deceived her ears. 

“ I left the hospital with the all-important thing 
unsaid. But I meant to write to you, to beg my 
fate, at the earliest opportunity. And I did,—the 
next day from London. I waited for your answer 
—day after day. It never came. And finally hope 
died.” 

u And I never knew.” 


124 


THE GAGE IS GIVEN 


Her eves were very dark with pity, and their 
common sorrow. 

“ It was too late,” lie went on, “ when I learned 
the truth. The servant brought the letter to me in 
revenge for dismissal without a character, and told 
me why he had taken it. I was furious, and re¬ 
solved on exposure of Frank’s treachery. . . . 

But within the hour came a letter from my excel¬ 
lent brother announcing his engagement to you. 
Then I struggled with myself. Wondering what was 
best for you. ... At last it seemed I must 
have been mistaken in thinking you cared for me. 
And so I was silent. But I have always wondered. 
And lately more than ever. If I had exposed the 
deceit, Leila, what would you have done? ” 

“ I think you know—now.” 

The words came quietly from her lips. 

“ Then I was wrong. God knows my course was 
hard. But I thought it was demanded of me. 
. .. . But one thing I could not do. I couldn’t 

bear the thought of seeing you married to him. 
So I solicited an order that sent me into Germany. 
And I stayed there until I was mustered out.” 

He paused in bitter memory. 

“ Finally, I had to come back. I did my best. 
But it was no use. I could never think of you as his 
wife without aversion.” 

She turned away from his unconsciously accus¬ 
ing eyes with a gesture of protest. 

“ I hated him every hour. And the sight of you 

125 


IN TEE TENTH MOON 


was pain. But the appearance of cordiality toward 
him had to be maintained. So I came sometimes, 
and loved you more. Then I found the answering 
fire in you. That day was a dazzling revelation.” 

“It was like a great wave to me,” she said 
softly. 

“ After that I suffered more. But a bitterness in 
which there was something sweet. You under¬ 
stand? ” 

Her eyes voiced comprehension. 

“ I meant to go away without a declaration. Of 
course, I should have done so. But I failed.” 

“ It was my fault, dear.” 

“ Yours? No,” he protested. 

“ But it was. Life had grown very dreary.” She 
hesitated, picking her words with care. “I read 
your purpose. There are little signs a woman who 
cares cannot fail to see. And the thought of the 
future without you, life with a husband turned 
torturer, and a father-in-law who somehow always 
has frozen the blood in my veins,—filled me with 
dread. I thought if I could only have the memory 
of your arms, and the touch of your lips, it would 
help me to go on alone. Just once. And then I 
meant to send you away.” 

“And then,” he said after a moment’s silence, 
“ it happened.” 

“ The next night.” 

She shivered, though the room was filled with 
sunlight, and very warm. 

126 


THE GAGE IE GIVEN 


u And Ms last words to me were about you. It 
was after I refused to dine with his mistress. I had 
discovered the situation by accident. At a certain 
address she bore his name. And by error a letter 
meant for her was forwarded to me. 

“ He did not deny the affair, but said his conduct 
was no worse than mine with you. It was sheer 
malice. He did not know our little sin. He could 
not have known. But I did not answer him. Some¬ 
how I felt crushed by the accusation. And lest he 
see how a random shot went home, I left him. I 
never saw him alive again.” 

Silence was heavy in the room. 

“ The rest everybody knows. Only,” with a sad 
little smile, “ the jury would not believe me.” 

“ They shall believe you,” he declared, “ and all 
the others. The mystery will be cleared up.” 

“ It must be, if we are ever to be together.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ I cannot marry with this cloud over me.” 

“ There are places,” he asserted, “ where the 
Slayton case is unknown.” 

“ But no place where it may not be known. And 
be assured it would find us out. And the gossip, 
the cold shoulder, and innuendo would be like acid 
in the flesh. No fineness of feeling, my dear, can re¬ 
sist such experience. The bravest heart shrivels. 
. . . And so, you see, as matters are we must 

go our separate ways. I know the world too well to 
let you make a useless sacrifice.” 

127 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ It may be you are right. But,” he persisted, “ I 
do not fear the test.” 

She still denied him, though her smile caressed. 

“ If the murderer is found. What then? ” he 
pressed. 

“ What if I were the murderer? ” 

Something came between them, impalpable as a 
cloud. 

“ What if I did it, in a moment of passion,—for 
your sake and mine? ” 

“ But you didn’t,” he cried. “ You couldn’t.” 

His clenched hands protested. 

“ But if I had? ” 

“ It is unthinkable.” 

“ Now. But what of the future? When I am no 
longer wonderful to you, but only a woman judged 
as one must judge the companion closest in life. If 
we are to have true happiness together, there must 
be no doubts.” 

“ If you are afraid,” he declared, “ I am not. 
But it shall be as you wish. And when you are 
cleared I shall claim your promise. Only give me 
a gage, something to hearten me in exile.” 

Some Parma violets in a vase beside her gave 
perfume to the air. She took a few, and pressed 
them to her lips; then extended to him the cluster. 
Over his heart he tenderly tucked them away. 

“ When may I come again, Leila? ” 

“ When you bring us deliverance.” 

“ You mean-? ” 


128 



TEE GAGE IS GIVEN 


“ That we must live in faith. Apart until this 
barrier, which is in our souls more than any com¬ 
mand of man, is removed.” 

“ As you will,” he said. 

He kissed her hand, and turned away. Hei^ 
cheeks were wet as she watched from the window, 
following his determined stride until he turned the 
corner. 


129 


CHAPTER VIII 


TRAIL OF THE BLACK RUBY 

“ Patrick, did you telephone the garage to have 
the car here at half-past one? ” 

“ Sure, Captain,” answered the beaming Halla- 
han. 

“ And you have the tickets for the game in your 
pocket, Patrick? ” 

“ Yes, Captain.” 

“ You remember the tickets you left behind when 
we took a steamer in Naples? ” 

“ ’Twas strange.” With cloudy countenance Pat¬ 
rick shook his head. “ But Captain, you managed 
those officers fine,” he said, and departed smiling. 

“ A good heart,” observed Captain Clifford 
meditatively, “and a poor head. Somehow, they 
seem to go together.” 

“ You wouldn’t argue that, though, would you? ” 
asked Slayton. 

“ By no means. And anyway, I wouldn’t descend 
to analysis of human conduct immediately after 
luncheon. Consider it a sloppy remark. . . . 

Will you excuse me a moment while I telephone? ” 

Slayton heard him at the instrument, talking 
with habitual calm. Then sounds of opening and 
closing, as if drawers were searched. 

130 


TRAIL OF THE BLACK RUBY 


Presently appeared tlie captain, a little flushed. 

“ Excuse the delay and the racket/’ he begged. 
“ I have been trying to locate my glass. That ras¬ 
cal, Patrick, has just had a clearing up spell.” 

“ I might loan you this,” said Slayton, reaching 
into a pocket. 

“ 1 didn’t know you used one.” 

The captain turned the glass over in his hand. 

“ Quite right. I don’t. It’s one I found in the 
library the night Frank was killed.” 

The captain regarded it with more interest. 

“ But why,” he asked, “ did you not give it to the 
authorities? ” 

“ I don’t quite know. Except that they seemed 
only bent on convicting Leila. And I had a feeling 
that some time I would meet the man who left 
it.” 

The captain applied it to his right eye. Then the 
left one, and held it up to a strong light. 

“ I’m afraid,” he said, “ it wouldn’t be of much 
use to me. The man who lost it has a curious eye.” 

As Slayton returned the monocle to his pocket 
they heard Patrick approaching. His head and 
shoulders appeared in the doorway, while the rest 
of him remained outside. It was his custom, for 
some reason known to himself. Or no reason at all. 

“ The auto-mobile is here, Captain,” he an¬ 
nounced, with a semi-military salute. 

“And the gasoline, too?” asked the captain, 
stooping to fill his cigar case. 

131 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

“ Sure, Captain,” Patrick assured him promptly. 
Then qualified it with,—“ Pll see, Captain.” 

“ My eye-glass, Patrick. Have you seen it? ” the 
captain called after him. 

“ Devil a hit, Captain.” 

He disappeared with indistinct reference to 
“ them gar-rage people.” 

They found him beaming at the wheel. And 
presently they were on the way. All the w T orld 
seemed like minded. The approaches to the Polo 
Grounds were streams of private motors and taxis. 
The elevated railroad disgorged its thousands; 
and surface cars groaned with the weight of hu¬ 
manity. 

Many thousands were before Slayton and the 
captain. And thousands came after them, as they 
sat in a box glorious with insignia and gold lace. 
Admirals seemed as common as porters in the Penn¬ 
sylvania terminal. 

Slayton looked across the worn turf of the grid¬ 
iron, with its lines of white, over which young 
heroes in moleskin would struggle in advance and 
retreat, desperately bent on victory. 

On one side the Army gray. On the other, the 
Navy blue. On both sides a dazzling profusion of 
charming girls, rejoicing in unwonted forbearance 
of Jupiter Pluvius. The seated multitude basked 
in amiable regard of the November sun. 

The stage was set. But the cadet battalions had 
not arrived. West Point came first, preceded by 

132 


TRAIL OF TEE BLACK RUBY, 

its band, and followed by a decorated beast ofi 
sombre aspect, tbe Academy’s famous mascot mule. 
Round tbe oval tbe battalion marched with perfect 
precision, and something no system can impart. It 
streamed from them, and touched the heart with 
the appeal of gallant youth. 

“ Aren’t they splendid? ” 

Slayton turned to see in the eyes of a woman at 
his elbow tears of pride. 

“ Of course,” she added, “ I’m in the Navy. But 
I love the Army, too.” 

“ They’re fine boys,” agreed Slayton. “ And the 
best of it is, they’re only average young Americans 
picked the country over.” 

She nodded, but said no more. Both turned 
again to the brilliant spectacle. The West Pointers 
halted before an empty section of the stands. For 
a half-minute they stood like figures of stone. Then 
a whistle blew. In an instant the battalion disin¬ 
tegrated. Its tumultuous units charged the seats 
with wild yells. Discipline done for the day. 
Down in front limber youths danced and pranced, 
and swung their arms, concluding with a gesture 
of frenzied appeal. Answered a thunderous out¬ 
burst. West Point defied deep sea fighters in verse 
of blithe derision. And they chanted old songs of 
the service that made hearts of grizzled brigadiers 
beat faster. 

A jubilant crash from the entrance to the 
north stands heralded Annapolis. With less pride 

133 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


in land formations, tlie middies sent tlieir cele¬ 
brated goat, blanketed and marked with a great 
golden “ N,” ahead. Not impeccable in ranks, they 
yet moved with irresistible elan. 

In their turn breaking ranks, they swept into a 
reserved section with jubilant yells. They gave 
song for song, and cheer for cheer. Waves of sound 
met in enthusiastic discord. Bands blared on; and 
sometimes they were heard. There was much visit¬ 
ing between boxes,—the while happy outsiders 
viewed with equal favor the glories of full-dress 
uniform and apparel of the fair. And the sun sent 
into every corner its cheering influence. 

A hoarse cry, the greatest, gave warning of the 
approach of the Navy eleven. Padded and blank¬ 
eted, they loped through the north gate, and began 
limbering up. A punter’s highly educated foot sent 
the pigskin spiralling far and high. Whereat ac¬ 
tive backs, clutching the ball with adhesive fingers, 
carried it fiercely back into the territory of an im¬ 
aginary enemy. Brawny linesmen crouched and 
charged with all the abandon of battle. And 
coaches paced up and down the side-lines, apprais¬ 
ing their pupils. 

Another amazing outburst from iron throats 
heralded the West Point warriors. While the Navy 
team, with blankets drawn about their shoulders, 
gave keen attention from their benches, they also 
went through orthodox preliminaries. And experts 
gave special heed to one of their kickers, a lanky 

134 


TRAIL OF THE BLACK RUBY 


youth who raised his propelling foot to an almost 
incredible elevation, so that his legs suggested the 
widely opened blades of huge scissors. He kicked 
with the vigor of a hardy Arkansas mule. 

Now the captains held converse, and a coin was 
flipped. Fussy officials appeared in sweaters and 
knickerbockers, thereby enhancing the effect of 
plumpness to which the superannuated athlete is 
often doomed. The pigskin poised for the kick-off, 
the referee raised his hand. 

Above dying echoes of the Army cannon, tradi¬ 
tional overture to service games, rose the signal of 
the whistle. The game was on. Outspeeding the 
straining Army ends, the ball nestled in the waiting 
arms of a Navy back, who ran and squirmed his 
way some twenty yards into West Point territory 
before he was tackled with such gusto that nervous 
beholders feared a display of fragments. But he 
only shook himself impatiently when a quarter-ton 
or so of eager flesh was removed. 

Himself a tackle some years before, Slayton for 
the hour forgot all else in the interest of a hard- 
fought game. To the Army’s superior kicking the 
Navy opposed a stronger offense. At the end of the 
third period neither side had scored. Several times 
the Navy had been within striking distance of a 
touch-down. But always the Army’s defense had 
stiffened, and held. Once when it seemed conquered 
a last convulsive effort of charging Navy backs 
failed by inches. And once West Point partisans 

135 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


thought their prodigious punter had scored a goal 
from the field. But an ofiiciars gesture of dissent 
checked their cheers. 

Shadows lengthened, and the sun retreated. 
Veterans of the game commenced occasional exami¬ 
nation of their watches, estimating time left for 
play. The sands sifted to almost the last minute of 
the game. Then it came. 

An exchange of kicks had left the ball in the 
Navy’s territory, but near the centre of the field. 
It was in the Army’s possession as experts recog¬ 
nized, with a thrill of astonishment, preparation for 
an attempt at goal from the field. 

The Navy forwards charged fiercely. They 
broke through. But a second too late. Barely 
escaping eager finger-tips, the ball soared from the 
boot of the Army’s star kicker in a great arc. It 
soared, and seemed to sail. Always it kept its true 
course. The mute thousands watched it clear the 
bar with a yard to spare. 

Now West Point cohorts raved with joy, while 
the score board operator hung up,—“Army—3 
. . . Navy—0.” And the Navy answered hope¬ 

fully, with a stout heart. Another kick-off, and the 
warriors of Annapolis rushed the ball like demons. 
A slashing drive off tackle, and a fierce assault at 
left guard netted large gains. 

Could they sustain the pace? Still forty yards to 
go. The Navy full-back retired behind the line of 
scrimmage. Was a second field goal to tie the 

136 


TRAIL OF THE BLACK RUBY 


score? As the ball was snapped the Army charged 
with all its energy. They broke through. But the 
ball was not there. The full-back had thrown a 
forward pass to the extreme right. It nestled in 
the arms of a lithe end. 

In a second he was on his way to the last fateful 
chalk-line. One man alone in the Army back-field 
could hope to intercept him. A diving tackle 
checked him momentarily. But he shook off the 
clutching arms, and fell across the line, in the very 
shadow of the goal posts. A moment later he was 
lost to view in a moleskin avalanche. While legs 
still waved aloft the wiiistle signalled the end of 
play. 

And the ball was across the line. 

As one man the Navy exercised its iron throat. 
Not waiting for the official “Navy—6 . . . 

Army—3,” the middies swarmed from their seats 
to bear their eleven aloft. Around the field they 
went in a wild snake-dance. And over the goal bar 
sailed a profusion of middies’ headgear, tossed by 
wearers heedless of a prospective entry on the pay¬ 
roll: “Due U. S. for Q. M., $8—Hats, 1, Dress, 
Blue.” 

“An amusing show,” said Captain Clifford at 
Slayton’s elbow, when the demonstration was near 
its extreme height. 

“ It stirs my pulse a little. And I’ve had a bully 
time. But I fear I haven’t behaved well. I got 

137 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


carried away by the game, and forgot to be polite 
to anybody.” 

The captain smiled. 

“Don’t worry. Where pandemonium is a com¬ 
monplace, silence is at a premium.” 

“ That sounds like satire,” said Slayton. “ But 
I’ll take it at face value.” 

“ I always take compliments that way.” 

As they left the box the captain laid a lightly 
restraining hand on Slayton’s arm. 

“ Where are you going now? ” he asked. “ May 
I drop you somewhere? ” 

“ That’s kind. But don’t bother. If there’s no 
taxi handy, I can get down-town on the L. Don’t 
let me interfere with any engagement.” 

“ I haven’t any. Our host at the game invited 
me to dine with him, and go on to a naval ball at 
the Astor. But I said, ‘ No.’ I’m too old to com¬ 
pete with middies for two minutes of a girl’s so¬ 
ciety on the floor; and too young to enjoy talk¬ 
ing away the hours with their chaperone in the 
corner.” 

“ Why not dine with me at the Racquet? ” 

Slayton spoke impulsively, then added: 

“ That is, if you really have nothing else to do. 
I’ll be delighted. But I fear I’m rather poor com¬ 
pany nowadays.” 

“ c Exceptions disallowed,’ ” quoted the captain. 
“ I have nothing else to do. And I am happy to 
dine with you. Then I’d rather like to refresh my 

138 


TRAIL OF THE BLACK RUBY 


memory of the Racquet. I used to be a member, 
but haven’t been there for years.” 

“ My good luck,” said Slayton. “ Let’s get under 
way.” 

They descended to the level of the amiable mob. 
Unanimously bent on dining, the crowd impres¬ 
sively demonstrated how each straining toward an 
exit might retard his fellows. It jostled and 
swayed, inching its way along. Women suffered, 
and men kept their balance with difficulty. 

Slayton turned to behold with amusement the 
captain’s silk hat, smooched and rakishly tilted 
over one eye. Then beside the captain he saw some¬ 
thing that rivetted his eyes. 

A ring on a woman’s upraised hand. A ruby set 
with diamonds. And in the ruby, held as it was 
before his eyes, he noted a black speck near its 
base. 

Had he wished to turn quickly, one way or the 
other, it would have been impossible,—he was 
wedged on both sides so tightly. As it was, he re¬ 
mained half-turned until his mind had registered 
ring and wearer with equal distinctness. 

She did not note his interest, absorbed as she 
was in protection of her hat, broad-brimmed with 
roses no redder than color flaming over her cheek 
bones. A gypsy type, with flashing black eyes 
and somewhat obvious down marking the 
upper lip. She was rather tall, and strong, and 

139 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

young. And Slayton sensed in her something 
ravenous. 

If she was unaware of Slayton's gaze, a man sup¬ 
porting her upraised arm was by no means ob¬ 
livious. Meeting his fierce regard, Slayton had 
a supplementary shock. It was the man he had 
seen waiting outside his father's house for the 
hair-dresser, Dora. Her husband, Leila’s maid 
supposed. The last proof of identity was the 
outstanding mustache, like a pair of scrubbing- 
brushes. 

With a thrust of powerful shoulders the man 
freed an arm to grasp the girl's hand, and pull it 
down. Her angry,—“ What do you mean? " and 
the captain's,—“ Careful, you clumsy ass," sent the 
red tide of anger rolling to his temples. 

Not turning again on the way to the gate, since 
to do so would have been a confession of interest, 
Slayton felt sure the quartet kept their respective 
places. Several times a slight inclination of the 
head afforded a glimpse of the woman's wine-col¬ 
ored skirt. And he felt her escort's baleful eyes on 
his back. 

As he emerged from the grounds they passed him 
suddenly. Afterward he was at a loss to understand 
how, in such a press, the manoeuvre was possible. 
But the crowd, somehow persuaded, opened enough 
to let the man through, half-dragging the girl, and 
closed solidly after them. 

His unusual height enabled Slayton to note they 

140 


TRAIL OF THE BLACK RUBY 


entered a taxi waiting at tlie curb. It must have 
been reserved. For as they reached the door the 
driver repelled a man bent on entering. 

With a sudden determination to hold the pair 
Slayton shouldered his way forward. The cab was 
almost within reach when its driver saw a chance 
to manoeuvre out of line. As he swung out the 
black-mustached man dropped the window for 
hasty words, with a gesture toward his pursuer. 
The driver nodded, and got under way with an 
explosive burst of speed. 

“ Fifty dollars if you catch it,” said Slayton, 
pointing as he made the offer to the driver of the 
nearest metred machine. 

“ Engaged,” said the chauffeur. But in the next 
breath he added,—“ You’re on.” 

In a jiffy they were away. And the chauffeur did 
his best. Within two minutes Slayton knew they 
had picked up the trail. For the black-mustached 
one put his head out of the cab for a look behind. 
But a moment later fortune played Slayton 
false. Stalled just ahead, a granite loaded 
truck constituted a barrier as impregnable as 
the Chinese wall. When at last it moved, under 
a barrage of irate police and the infuriated 
and delayed, Slayton’s driver turned for his com¬ 
mand. 

Five minutes lost, and the trail. With only sight 
to guide him, broken contact was a stopper to pur¬ 
suit. The man, the ring, and the girl might be 

141 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


speeding in any one of a dozen directions, to any 
one of a thousand places. Keluctantly, Slayton 
directed the driver to return to the Polo grounds. 
When he reached them, by a roundabout way, the 
crowd had thinned. And the captain, doubtless 
astonished, had vanished from the gate. 


142 


CHAPTER IX 


AN UNFORTUNATE ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 

Slayton was convinced. He had been over the 
situation, time and again. Always with the same 
result. The girl with the ruby ring knew Frank 
Slayton’s murderer. Therefore he must find her; 
and find her without police help. If a plain-clothes 
officer were her lover, there might be influence in 
the department to shield the criminal. So he sur¬ 
mised. 

Private detectives were available. A legion ea¬ 
ger for cash, and nowise averse to taking a fall out 
of the police. But Slayton yearned to rescue Leila 
unassisted. There was but one person in whom, 
oddly enough, he felt he could confide. He would 
take counsel with the captain in the morning. 
Seemingly, he was nowise irritated by Slayton’s 
abrupt desertion after the game. 

“ Don’t try to explain now,” he had said when 
Slayton reached him by telephone at his apartment. 
“ And please don’t apologize. I saw you had some¬ 
thing urgent to do, and no time to waste. Only 
sorry, whatever it was, I couldn’t be with you. I’m 
somewhat a specialist in the unexpected. 

“ Oh, no,” he said a minute later, when Slayton 
inquired what time he might expect him to dine. 

143 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ The fact is, I suppose I owe you an apology. I 
rather guessed you might not be back for hours, 
if you had luck in the chase. So I invited a chap 
I happened to meet to come down here, and dine 
with me. Better come, and make a third.” 

“ You’re tempting,” Slayton replied, after a min¬ 
ute’s hesitation. “ But I’ve a thing or two to mull 
over. And I rather think I’d better thresh them out 
alone. . . . There is something I’d like your 
opinion on. Could you give me any time to-mor¬ 
row? ” 

“Any time at all. After breakfast, if you 
please.” 

“ About ten, then. Good-bye.” 

Slayton found the evening very long. Now that 
he had a clue, any delay seemed intolerable. He 
wanted to go forth at once. To find the dark man 
with the big mustache. And his companion. And 
to wring from them what they knew of the tragedy 
that made the dead man, his unloved brother, still 
an obstacle in his path, and a threat against his 
widow’s life. 

He looked at his watch, and returned it to its 
pocket impatiently. About eleven o’clock. And 
that portion of New York, or multitudinous invad¬ 
ers who give the American metropolis its superficial 
night coloring, seemed busily engaged in after-din¬ 
ner celebration of the Army and Navy game. That 
many had nothing to do with either branch of the 
service was no handicap. Rather an incentive to 

144 


AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 

enthusiasm. They were first partisans of food and 
drink. 

On second thought, Slayton had preferred to dine 
at one of the caravansaries popular with those that 
delight in being overcharged. At his club he would 
have had either the strain of pretended unconcern, 
or oppressive kindness from some friend bent on 
exerting cheerful influence. Either a foe to reflec¬ 
tion. 

Now that he had reached a decision, and set a 
course, he was conscious of the loud volubility of 
the crowd about him. Its gabble fretted his nerves. 
Paying his check, he passed gratefully into the open 
air. 

“ Taxi, sir? ” inquired the starter, with a whistle 
at his lips. 

Cabs had no fascination with the night wind soft, 
and stars twinkling through the bright haze of city 
lights. With the first step for Leila’s liberation 
just ahead, he felt in them a friendly gleam. 

An unending stream of motors swept up Fifth 
Avenue. And the sidewalks were crowded with 
pedestrians moving up town or down, according to 
residence and devices of the heart. 

Slayton turned toward Madison Avenue, seeking 
a quiet stroll. He was hardly clear of the crowd 
when a girl passed him, walking rapidly. Only a 
few steps ahead she stopped, and turned toward 
him. 

" Oh, sir! ” she said. 


145 




IN THE TENTH MOON 

In her voice he heard distress. And her face was 
terror-stricken. He noted its pallor, and the dila¬ 
tion of great dark eyes. A young girl and simple, 
with the dress and air of a bread-winner. 

“ What’s the matter? ” he asked kindly. 

“ Those men-” 

She put a hand on his arm appealingly. Over 
his shoulder he followed her guiding eyes. A hun¬ 
dred yards or so back two men stood in a doorway. 
As Slayton looked they retired into the shadow. 

“ They followed me,” the girl explained, with a 
pathetic catching of breath. 

“ Well, they shan’t get you,” he said reassuringly. 
“ Where do you live? ” 

“ On West 96th.” 

“ Come along with me. I’ll get you a taxi.” 

“ If you please, I’d rather go in the subway.” 

They were walking together, her hand on his 
arm. 

“ What’s the matter with a taxi? ” he asked. 

“ I don’t like to accept such a favor from a 
stranger,” she said shyly. “ And I’m not afraid in 
the subway—not with so many people.” 

“ As you wish,” he observed. “ But such scruple 
is phenomenal.” 

She did not answer. They walked in silence a 
few steps. Then she screamed. 

“ For Heaven’s sake! ” he exclaimed. “ What’s 
the matter? ” 

Again her piercing cry: 

146 



AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 


“ Help!” 

She retreated to a doorway. And Slayton fol¬ 
lowed to reassure her. He put his hand on her 
shoulder, as she huddled on a step, shaken by sobs. 

“ Be still,” he said soothingly. “ And tell me 
what is wrong.” 

He was grasped and hurled backward, so vio¬ 
lently that he reeled. As he recovered his balance 
a tall man faced him belligerently. And a second 
man leaned over the girl. 

“ The two,”—flashed through Slayton’s mind. 

“What’s the matter, girlie?” inquired her new 
protector. 

“ Oh! ” she moaned. “ That man.” 

“ What did he do? ” the tall man asked gruffly. 

She straightened to tell her story. And Slayton 
again saw signs of distress—now intensified. The 
eyes full of tears, and a mark like a bruise on her 
cheek. 

“ Tell us,” the tall man repeated. 

Then she told a story, twisting her hands nerv¬ 
ously. She seemed to strive for self-control. 

“ I was frightened. Tw r o men followed me. 
And he ”—pointing to Slayton, “ said he would see 
me home. . . . But he treated me awful. He 

dragged me in here. And he tore my waist. 
And-” she burst into wild sobs. 

“ See here,” said Slayton, trying to speak calmly, 
but unable to keep anger out of his voice. “ What 
sort of a put-up job is this? ” 

147 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


u You’re a pretty bird/’ sneered the nearer man, 
and struck him in the mouth. 

Combative instinct that made old Jabez Slayton 
feared in trade circles woke suddenly in his son. 
A smashing right, full on the jaw, and his assailant 
fell like a log. Then the second man sprang upon 
Slayton from behind and bore him to the ground. 
For several minutes they struggled furiously, 
neither ascendent, and neither able to rise. Mean¬ 
time, the girl rent the air with her screams. 

At length Slayton gained the upper hand. Astride 
his foe, he gripped his neck with unrelenting pres¬ 
sure, until the eyes staring up at him bulged with 
agony and fear. 

“ Enough? ” asked Slayton, relaxing his hold a 
moment. 

“ Don’t disable him, Alf,” gasped the man under 
him. 

Before he could grasp the import of this warn¬ 
ing Slayton received a paralyzing blow on the back 
of his head. For a few minutes he lay stunned on 
the pavement, the while the girl gasped out her tale 
to the inevitable and fast growing crowd. 

u He abused me! God knows I’m a good girl,” 
were the first words Slayton heard as he struggled 
to his feet, still dazed. 

“ It’s a damned lie,” he said, addressing behold¬ 
ers in general. 

u Better close your face. Unless you want to be 

148 


AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 


strung up to a lamp-post,” suggested one bystander. 
“ See the condition the girl is in.” 

Her appearance was indeed piteous, with her dis¬ 
ordered hair, the torn blouse showing a white 
shoulder. And her eyes were pools that overflowed 
on tear-stained cheeks. Near her mouth glowed 
darkly what seemed a brutal bruise. Slayton’s 
eyes dwelt upon it. He had not noted it before, and 
wondered how it was produced. 

“Where are the police?” irritably asked an 
elderly gentleman. “ Can’t somebody call an 
officer? ” 

“I guess we have authority enough,” said the 
taller of Slayton’s assailants, and unbuttoned his 
coat to show a shining badge. 

“ Plain-clothes man? ” inquired the elderly cit¬ 
izen. 

The man called “ Alf ” grunted, and pointed to a 
passing taxi. 

“ Stop that cab,” he said. 

As the driver wheeled up to the curb the younger 
of Slayton’s enemies opened the cab door. And 
the other prodded him from behind, with a laconic 
order: 

“ Get in.” 

“ I won’t,” said Slayton. “ And I propose to find 
out,” raising his voice to reach the crowd, “ if a 
citizen of New York, going his way peaceably, 
has any protection against street walkers and 
thugs.” 


149 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


The bystanders mumbled observations with a 
hostile sound. 

“ Save your speech for the judge,” sneered Alf. 

“ Get in,” urged the other, with a push toward 
the open door of the cab. “ And be quick about it.” 

“ By what authority-” began Slayton, as 

both seized him by the shoulders. 

“You’re under arrest,” Alf growled. “Now,” 
drawing a night-stick, “ will you go peaceable? Or 
do you want to be beaned? ” 

“ You’ve got your w T ay now,” Slayton conceded, 
and stepped into the cab. 

“ Thirty-fifth Street station,” said the smaller 
man to the driver. 

In the short ride Slayton was perplexed, and still 
more excited. Forced into a small seat with his 
back to the chauffeur, he faced his captors. Alf, 
the big man, was florid and clean shaven, with 
pompadour hair and fierce gray eyes. The smaller, 
now addressed as “ Frisky,” was sandy-haired and 
sallow, with a sly look. His eyes were the eyes of 
a fox. 

“ What do you expect to get out of this? ” he 
asked, interrupting a low-toned conversation. 

“ I can guess w T hat you’ll get,” suggested 
“ Frisky ” with an evil smile. 

“ About six months at Blackwell’s, if the judge is 
good natured,” Alf supplemented. 

So it was his imprisonment on a trumped up 
charge they were after, and not money. For what 

150 



AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 

purpose? Slayton was positive he had never seen 
either of the men before. What profit to them if 
he were put behind bars? His aching head having 
no solution to offer, he contented himself with a 
defiant observation. 

“ I shall have something to say when we get 
before a court.” 

A hoarse chuckle was the only answer. The cab 
stopped abruptly, and the two men got out. As 
Slayton followed, responsive to a sign, he saw be¬ 
fore him the melancholy entrance to a police sta¬ 
tion. The usual pale light, and the handful of 
guttersnipes hanging about with morbid interest in 
the night’s catch. 

Alf and “ Frisky ” took Slayton by the elbows, 
one on each side. 

“ I can walk without assistance,” he said resent- 

fully. 

“ But you’re dangerous,” observed Alf. “ You 
might get away.” 

With tightened grip they shoved him before them, 
down a corridor and through swinging doors, to the 
desk where a stout sergeant, with uniform coat un¬ 
buttoned for relief from the heat, presided over the 
blotter. As Slayton was brought in a shock-headed 
little man disappeared in the hands of two burly 
policemen, his fervid protests stolidly ignored. 

“Before God, I am innocent! I try to run 
straight. But the bulls won’t give me a chance,” 
he cried over his shoulder. 

151 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


The sergeant blinked unmoved. As the cell-room 
door closed with a bang he carefully blotted an 
entry, and reached for a handkerchief to mop his 
steaming brow. Then he looked up, with a casual 
salutation: 

“ Hello, Alf. Hullo, Frisky. What you brought 
in?” 

“Aggravated assault,” Alf responded concisely, 
and pushed Slayton nearer his superior. 

“ Um,” said the sergeant, chewing his penholder. 
“ What witnesses? ” 

“ Frisky and me. We happened to be sloping 
just behind. Dead open-and-shut. Girl in the case 
will appear.” 

“ Seems to be all ship-shape,” the sergeant 
agreed. “ What name? ” 

“ Isn’t it about time,” interjected Slayton, with 
a sudden snapping of sorely tried patience, “ for you 
to hear me? ” 

“ All right, I will,” said the sergeant. “ What’s 
your name? ” 

“ My name is Slayton. And I want to know-” 

He paused, bewildered by the sergeant’s guf¬ 
faw. 

“ I suppose you’re some relation of the famous 
family on the Avenue,” that worthy suggested 
facetiously. 

“ I am Jabez Slayton’s son.” 

“ Yes, yes.” The sergeant spoke soothingly. 
“ There’ll be a lot of them, until people get that 

152 



AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 


murder case out of their heads. Just to distinguish 
you,—suppose we call you * Smith.’ ” 

“ I don’t care a damn what you call me.” 

Slayton pounded the desk to emphasize the 
observation. 

“ My name is George Slayton. And I’m going 
to find out what’s behind this conspiracy to blacken 
my reputation.” 

“ Sure.” The sergeant still smiled. “ Tell that 
to the judge. It’s my job to book you.” 

“ Then send for my lawyer,” Slayton demanded. 

“ In the morning,” the oracle of the desk assented. 
“ Maybe then you’ll know who you are. Now ”— 
writing a name in the blotter, “ you’re 6 Smith. 
Joseph Smith.’ ” 

“ But I want to give bail.” 

“ See here! ” 

The sergeant’s urbanity was lost in a frown. 

“ Do you think we have nothing to do but talk 
to you all night? Look at yourself.” 

Accepting the invitation, Slayton surveyed him¬ 
self in a small mirror hung over the sergeant’s desk. 
He saw a man whose face was bruised and dirty. 
Blood had dried on a cut over the left eye. There 
was blood, too, on the linen collar. The breast 
pocket of his coat was torn, so that it hung loose. 
And there was a rip in the seam over the shoulder. 
With street dirt ground into his clothes, and smear¬ 
ing exposed portions of his body,—his appearance 
was disreputable. His silence confessed it. 

153 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Hell! ” ejaculated the sergeant. “ You a mil¬ 
lionaire's son! Take him away, hoys.” 

With alacrity Alf and “ Frisky ” obeyed. Quiet 
before the sergeant, in the cell room they gave rein 
to self-congratulation. 

“ This way, my beauty,” said Alf with a vigorous 
shove. “ We'll conduct you to a bridal suite.” 

“ Tell me,” urged Slayton as a cell door was 
opened. “What is the game? I’ll make it worth 
while.” 

“ Do you want to go up river for trying to bribe 
an officer? ” asked Alf. 

Slayton said no more. But he pondered over¬ 
heard conversation of the two worthies, as they 
paused a moment around the corner near his cell. 

“ Sure he’s the right one? ” asked “ Frisky.” 

“ Pretty sure,” said Alf. “ When Fritz comes in 
we’ll make certain.” 

Their footsteps echoed into silence, with the 
harsh grating of the great steel door. Then op¬ 
pressive silence, charged with the suspense of un¬ 
uttered fears. 

In hours that followed Slayton experienced ter¬ 
rors of imagination in the first shock of contact 
with prison bars. They closed in, nearer and 
nearer, until they seemed to press upon his head. 
He had a feeling of horrible constriction. Unable 
to move, and hardly to breathe. 

The air was foul with emanations of the phys¬ 
ically impure. The bunk, on which in sheer weari- 

154 


AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 


ness he had seated himself, was a breeding place 
for vermin. He felt its loathsome crawling upon 
his skin. Unreasoned sensation of something be¬ 
hind sent him in a bound to the cell door, to stand 
there, gripping the bars convulsively as he stared 
into the dimly lighted corridor, seeking some re¬ 
assuring connection with familiar things. 

“ What you in for, matey? ” 

A hoarse voice from the darkness Slayton traced 
to the prisoner on his immediate right. By craning 
his neck he saw the outline of a face, like his own 
pressed against the bars. 

“ It’s a false arrest,” he answered briefly, hating 
to name the charge. 

a Sure,” the unknown commented with a little 
laugh. “We all have that experience.” 

Angered, Slayton was silent. 

“ Well,” said his unruffled neighbor, after a little 
pause, “ I guess I’ll hit the hay. Hope you put it 
over. So long.” 

In the uneasy silence that followed Slayton was 
acutely conscious of the sighs, the muttered curses, 
and the murmurs of uneasy sleepers. Grown 
drowsy, despite the dictate of his opposing will, he 
still sat on the side of the bunk, seeking the solu¬ 
tion of his predicament. So sleep possessed him. 

He slept, and dreamed of days on a far western 
range. Of wide, wind-swept spaces. Of air that 
quickened the blood like wine. Of slopes tawny 
in the sunshine. And nights when air from the 

155 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


hills came in cool puffs that eddied about the 
sleeper like elfish visitors. Then to the ears of 
dreamy consciousness came a thread of silver 
sound, like faint winding of the horn of some far- 
off huntsman. . . . Brief oblivion. 

Slayton returned to reality with a shudder. 
Down the corridor some prisoner cried aloud; and 
cried again. Moans of despair succeeded, with 
oaths of prisoners resentful at being disturbed. 
Then a turnkey entered, with threats of punish¬ 
ment ; and the disturbance gradually ceased. 

Slayton strove to hold himself steady. To fortify 
himself for the ordeal of the morning. Again he 
slept, such was his fatigue. 

The rattling of his cell door brought him up with 
a start. He awoke bewildered. What was the 
hour? From shadows in the corridor, poorly 
lighted at best, seemingly it was not morning. 

“ Come. Get a move on,” growled Alf, whose 
voice he recognized before he saw his face. And 
“ Frisky ” peered from the background. 

“ What’s the matter now? ” he asked. 

“ Want to see you,” said Alf. 

“ Well, here I am.” 

“None of your lip,” Alf threatened in a fierce 
undertone. “ Do you want to be fetched? ” 

“With the fine, even chance I have, I may as 
well oblige.” 

Wasted irony. The pair eyed him in sullen si¬ 
lence as he stepped from his cell. 

156 


AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 


A foe on either side, he was conducted the length 
of the cell room, and through a little door. Here 
and there a face pressed to the bars. And eyes 
glazed or sympathetic followed his progress. 

The room into which he was led was small and 
brightly lighted, a room plainly sheathed, with 
a little window that gave on a corridor in one end. 
Several chairs stood along the wall, and one in the 
centre of the room. 

“ Sit there.” 

Alf pointed to the chair in the middle of the floor. 

“ Ho, the other way,” as Slayton, turning the 
chair, sat with his back to the window. 

“What’s the difference? Am I to be photo¬ 
graphed? ” 

“ Hever mind about the idea. Do as you’re told.” 

“ Thanks for your courtesy.” Slayton turned as 
ordered. “ How, what is it? ” 

“We just want to give you a little advice, 
friendly like.” “ Frisky ” leered. “ It’ll go a lot 
easier with you, if you confess.” 

“ Let me return the advice to you,” Slayton re¬ 
torted. “You’ll need the kindness of some judge 
when I’m through with you.” 

“ I’ve a good mind to send you up river,” said 
Alf savagely. 

Disdaining to reply, Slayton fixed his eyes on the 
little window. As he did so the face of a man 
peering in was hastily withdrawn. The moment 
sufficed for identification. 

157 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


Ko mistaking the scrubbing-brush mustache, the 
beetling brows, and fierce black eyes. It was the 
husband of the hair-dresser, Dora; the companion, 
and apparently her lover, of the girl wearing Leila’s 
stolen ruby. Was he a party to the false arrest, 
with threat of imprisonment? What had seemed 
completely blind suddenly exhibited a possible mo¬ 
tive. 

At yesterday’s game the man had noted his in¬ 
terest in the ring. And he had palpably run away 
afterward. If he planned and had executed the 
manufactured charge of which Slayton found him¬ 
self the victim, and put it through within twenty- 
four hours, it was a display of celerity and shrewd¬ 
ness with which one would hardly have credited 
him. Assuming it was a police conspiracy he had 
to meet, Slayton resolved to say nothing until he 
had reached Mr. Kent. 

“ Well,” observed Alf, “ are you coming through 
with a statement? ” 

“ You’re wasting time. I’ll say all I have to say 
to the court.” 

“ I’d give him the ear,” “ Frisky ” suggested. 

The purport of this suggestion was immediately 
revealed. Standing behind him, Alf struck Slay¬ 
ton’s left ear, pressing it forward with the open 
hand. The pain was excruciating. 

Stung to ungovernable anger, Slayton turned 
swiftly, landing on the bully’s neck as he rose. Alf 
drew his night-stick, with a guttural oath. But 

158 


AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 


Slayton pinioned his hand. With “ Frisky,” whose 
previous encounter with Slayton bred caution, 
awaiting his companion’s call for help, they strug¬ 
gled for mastery. 

Crashes of upset chairs marked their encounter. 
Victory had not perched on either banner, though 
Slayton’s adversary had an advantage in his feroc¬ 
ity and greater weight, when the door opened to 
admit a powerfully built officer who promptly in¬ 
tervened. Breaking Alt’s grip with a twist produc¬ 
tive of a snarl of pain, he pushed the antagonists 
apart. 

“ What are you trying to do? ” He surveyed Alf 
with manifest disgust. “ Sending a prisoner to the 
hospital? Or getting ready to take him into 
court? ” 

“ He was too fresh,” said Alf sullenly. 

“ Suppose he was. Is that an excuse for waking 
everybody in the station house? ” 

Alf did not reply. But “ Frisky ” ventured an ob¬ 
servation. 

“ There’s a special reason, Joe.” 

“ 1 Special reason! ’ ” 

The newcomer snorted his disgust. 

“ Be careful, Frisky, about overtaxing your 
head. You and Alf are always mussing up some¬ 
thing.” 

Neither resented the disparaging observation. 
In some way the officer called “ Joe ” compelled 
deference. 


159 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

Alf turned to Slayton, with, a surly, “Come 
along.” 

“ Wait a minute,” said Joe. “ Which cell is he 
in?” 

“ ]STo. 66,” said Alf, grudgingly. 

“ All right. Ill lock him up.” 

“ What are you buttin’ in for, anyway? ” Alf 
turned suddenly aggressive. “ I guess I know 
enough to handle a prisoner.” 

“Well, you know what I know,” Joe observed. 
“ And I guess it’s enough.” 

Alf wilted at the suggestion. Mumbling some¬ 
thing not understood, he turned to the door. And 
after him went “ Frisky,” likewise speechless, with 
blinking eyes. 

“Huh! ” Joe ejaculated, and turned to Slayton. 
“ Come along, young feller. But say,” as Slayton 
rose to accompany him, “ you look pretty well down 
and out. I guess Alf and Frisky haven’t been extra 
pleasant to you.” 

With a sardonic smile he took in traces of the 
night’s engagement in street and station house. 
Then he winked broadly. 

“ How’d you like a drink of—er—ginger ale? ” 

“ A drink of anything,” Slayton answered 
promptly. 

“ All right. Wait a minute while I do some 
scouting.” 

He departed, with a rolling gait suggesting life 
at sea. No lock was turned. Not even the door 

160 


AN ESSAY IN CHIVALRY 


closed. But the idea of attempted escape did not 
enter Slayton’s mind. He had wanted to find the 
hair-dresser's reputed husband. Instead, the man 
had found him, and proposed to hold him helpless 
in jail. Desperate as his situation seemed, it held 
the brightening hope of a clue to his brother’s mur¬ 
derer. At the proper time he would make his fight 
in court. He had no desire to run away. 

Presently his Samaritan returned, with a tall 
glassful of familiar hue. 

“ Down that,” he said, offering the glass to Slay¬ 
ton. “ It’s got a little kick in it.” 

Unquestionably ginger ale, with a slightly sweet 
flavor Slayton could not identify. He drank it 
gratefully, and without question. 

“ Now for bed,” said the officer. 

Again Slayton followed down the double row, be¬ 
tween grated openings in the whitewashed wall. 
The door to cell 66 was open, and he stepped 
quickly in. The door closed; the bolt rang. 

“ So long,” said the officer in friendly fashion. 
“ Get what beauty sleep you can.” 

His footsteps died away as Slayton seated him¬ 
self on the bunk with a feeling of relief. At least, 
troubles of the night were over. And it was very 
late. He must get as much sleep as possible, to 
prepare for the battle in court. Swinging round 
in the bunk, he relaxed in a posture of slumber. It 
came quick and deep. In the hours that precede 
dawn distressful sounds of night in a prison are 
intensified. But Slayton did not hear them. 

161 


CHAPTER X 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 

“ Turn out. What’s the matter with you? ” 

The question, emphasized with slaps and vigor¬ 
ous shaking, elicited from Slayton only a dazed 
stare. 

“ What? ” he asked confusedly, as a rough hand 
on his collar pulled him up to a sitting posture. 

“ Turn out,” the turnkey reiterated irritably. 
“ It’s almost time to go to court. Why didn’t you 
get up with the other boys? ” 

“ I guess I was asleep,” said Slayton, still mud¬ 
dled. 

“ That’s your lookout. If you’d rather snooze 
than get your breakfast, it’s no concern of mine. 
You had your call like the others. Mind, now, you 
don’t go to sleep again.” 

Xot bothering to lock the door, he went strolling 
down the corridor. Following his progress, as he 
stood at the grating and labored to clarify thought, 
Slayton saw other prisoners were astir. 

They shuffled up and dow T n. The sharper, and 
the drunkard; the ferret-faced, and the bleary-eyed. 
A few still capable of shame held slightly aloof. 
But to the great majority the occasion was not with- 

162 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


out social charm. They compared charges against 
themselves, as women about a tea-table dwell upon 
their respective lists of ailments. 

Some paused to gaze with languid interest at 
Slayton, as he sat with bowed head, bracing for the 
ordeal ahead. While no food had passed his lips 
since early dinner the day before, and the night’s 
aggregate of sleep was indeed small, these influ¬ 
ences were not responsible for physical and mental 
languor that made the slightest exertion, the sim¬ 
plest thought, an enormous effort. 

In painful cogitation he enlarged by one the cir¬ 
cle of his enemies. There must have been a drug 
in the sweetish ginger ale brought by the friendly 
appearing policeman called “ Joe.” 

How many were concerned in conspiracy to put 
him out of the way? Four,—seemingly. With two 
happenings. And the cause, his observation of the 
girl with what he took to be Leila’s ring, was less 
than twenty-four hours old. If the police were 
sometimes slack in protection of the public, they 
were no laggards in looking out for themselves. 

What next? Would George Slayton disappear 
as u Joseph Smith,” arrested on a trumped-up 
charge, booked under a false name, and drugged to 
get him before the court in a helpless condition? 
The Slayton will returned a vigorous negative. As 
George raised his head, with a determined squaring 
of his shoulders, he heard the turnkey calling: 

“ Get a hustle on. Come along now.” 

163 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


There was a general movement without. And 
mindful of his warning, he joined it. By twos and 
threes the night’s grist of prisoners straggled along, 
to motor vans waiting to carry them to a magis¬ 
trate’s court. 

Seemingly these veterans proceeding with sang¬ 
froid did not consider Slayton an exceptional com¬ 
panion. It was not strange. For the dirt and dis¬ 
order of last night’s encounter were supplemented 
by his unshaven condition, and lack of any morn¬ 
ing toilet. He was rather faint besides, and hag¬ 
gard. 

Twice he staggered slightly on the way outdoors. 
Once the fire of anger vitalized him suddenly. 
Peering round a corner, he caught sight of Alf, 
“ Frisky,” and the instigator of their outrage, the 
black-mustached officer known as “ Fritz.” They 
were presumably watching for results of their 
night’s work. 

Disdaining their gloating, Slayton looked 
straight ahead. He was last in climbing into the 
van. The door was closed, and locked. 

u All aboard for Palm Beach,” called a hardened 
wag. 

Presently Slayton realized he was being carried 
as a prisoner through streets familiar to him as a 
business man. By the small square of a window in 
the side of his moving prison he kept a lookout for 
landmarks. He was steadied by the effort, and the 
intake of fresh morning air. 

164 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


After a while the van stopped suddenly, so 
abruptly that the inmates packed along its sides 
were generally bumped, and vented their feelings 
profanely. Last in, Slayton was first in facing a 
building squat and dingy, as though justice had 
slumped and coarsened in the long years of judg¬ 
ment meet for cases not so much characterized by 
depravity as lack of moral fibre. 

Under close escort the prisoners were crowded 
into elevators that carried them to an upper floor. 
They marched through corridors, targets to eyes 
of the curious. At last they came to the court of 
examination, with brief respite in the detention 
pen. Only a small audience was in attendance, 
the type who went to court in the morning, as in 
the afternoon they went to the movies. In the court 
show was this advantage: Free admission. Not 
even a dime. 

“ Old Buzzer is up this morning,” observed a 
nonchalant young pickpocket on Slayton’s right. 

By his gesture toward the bench he evidently 
referred to the sitting magistrate. Sallow and 
stockily built, the judge’s round head was scantily 
thatched. But over his nose, as near the centre of 
his forehead as if it had been measured, rose a 
reddish lock—like some heraldic emblem. Glasses 
thick lensed somewhat concealed the expression of 
eyes that should have glinted, to enforce the sug¬ 
gestion of curt speech. 

He had the appearance of biting off his words. 

165 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Old Buzzer,” Slayton’s neighbor of the dock had 
called him. Evidently, he was unpopular with 
habitual offenders. Stock excuses fell on deaf 
ears. 

“ You are wasting a good memory,” he said at 
the close of a vivid tale of misfortune and police 
persecution. “ I heard the same story, to a word, 
from you last year. Six months at the island.” 

For his own defense Slayton had matured no 
plan. He proposed simply to tell the truth. But 
he was at times uneasy in the magistrate’s evident 
conviction that among those before him truth was 
scarce indeed. Still he resisted the importunities 
of runners for ravenous lawyers, shysters who took 
any job, and were reputed to be without scruple 
against dividing with thievish clients their receipts 
of criminal adventure. 

“ Joseph Smith! ” 

The clerk repeated his call. But no one re¬ 
sponded. Then a guard beckoned Slayton to the 
rail. 

“ Ain’t that your name? ” he asked. 

“ ISTo,” Slayton succinctly responded. 

An officer from the station house stepped for¬ 
ward and whispered to the clerk, who made a slight 
gesture to the interlocutor. 

“ Anyway, Smith’s the name you’re booked un¬ 
der,” he said, taking George by the elbow. “ Go 
forward.” 

A few yards, but somehow an enormous distance 

166 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


to the spot where those arraigned received sum¬ 
mary judgment. “ Old Buzzer ” looked at a paper, 
and then at George with manifest disfavor. 

“A serious charge,” he snapped. “ Witnesses.” 

Now Alf and “ Frisky ” came to view, and their 
feminine decoy. The girl seemed as when Slayton 
first beheld her, young and simple. Even by morn¬ 
ing light, nothing in her appearance suggested the 
adventuress. 

“ Proceed,” said the magistrate. And Alf took 
the laboring oar. 

“ I was out with my partner,”—indicating 
“ Frisky,” “ just scouting around. And we spotted 
this man,” with a wave for Slayton, “ acting in a 
suspicious manner.” 

“ How? ” asked the judge. 

“ Loitering. And lamping women. Giving them 
the eye, I mean. We saw him speak to the com¬ 
plainant on East 44th. Then they went along to¬ 
gether. It seemed like he made her. And we fol¬ 
lowed. 

“ In a few minutes he pushed her into a door¬ 
way, and we heard her scream. When we got there 
she had fought him off. But she was pretty much 
upset. Crying; her clothes torn; and so frightened, 
she could hardly stand. . . . The man made a 

break to get away. But we nailed him, after a 
little scuffle.” 

“It’s a damned lie,” said Slayton violently, as 
Alf ended his recital with a virtuous air. 

167 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

“Keep quiet,” the judge commanded sternly. 
“ I’ll hear you later. Is that all, officer? ” 

“ That’s what happened, Your Honor.” 

“ Have you anything to add? ” 

The magistrate shot this question at “ Frisky,” 
who pulled hack his head as though he feared being 
bitten. 

“ I don’t think of anything else, Your Honor.” 

“ I’ll hear the complainant,” snapped the judge. 
As Alf and “ Frisky ” gave way to the girl, they 
taunted Slayton with a sly smile. The judge looked 
at her; and his expression softened somewhat. She 
was pleasant to the eye. Petite and simply dressed, 
she seemed the shy daughter of some sheltering 
home. Kever glancing at George, she had eyes only 
for the court. 

“ What’s your name? ” 

“ Rosie, sir.” 

“ i Rosie’ what? ” 

“ Rosie Rolff, sir. I mean, Your Honor.” 

The judge tossed his head as a horse exercises its 
neck in the stall. Then something vaguely remem¬ 
bered started tracery of recall in Slayton’s mind. 
The curious toss of the head was repeated. And 
“ Old Buzzer ” turned in his chair, that he might 
bring to bear full power of observation. 

“ Well,” he said, “ what happened? ” 

Turning her back to Slayton, the girl moved 
nearer the bench. Her manner was timid, as one 
craving support. Spectators of the rear seats 

168 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


craned their necks to hear. Her words came 
faintly audible: 

“ I was at the movie. And this man sat beside 
me.” 

“ What man? ” asked “ Old Buzzer.” 

Half-turning, she pointed at Slayton, then turned 
quickly back with a gesture of aversion, and stood 
silent. 

“ Go on,” said the magistrate kindly. 

“ I didn’t know him. But he spoke to me,— 
when they changed the pictures. ... I know it 
isn’t right to talk to strangers. But he seemed nice 
then. And I answered him.” 

Her pause for some sign of approval, or disap¬ 
proval went unrewarded. “ Old Buzzer ” waited in 
silence for her to proceed. 

“ After the movie I saw him again. I suppose he 
followed me. Seems he must have. When two 
other men frightened me he was just behind, 
and drove them away. I thought he was splendid 
then.” 

Again a pleading pause without response. The 
flaming topknot seemed to command,—“ Proceed.” 

“ He offered to see me home,” the girl went on. 
“ Then all at once he was awful.” 

Her voice sank almost to a whisper. And she 
clasped her hands nervously. 

“ He grabbed me, and pushed me into a doorway. 
I tried to get away; but he was too strong. Then 
I screamed. And fought as hard as I could.” 

169 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ I don’t see any signs of hard usage this morn¬ 
ing,” commented the court. 

“ It’s my arm, Judge. And my back and shoul¬ 
ders.” 

“ I’ll take a matron’s opinion of that. What hap¬ 
pened when you were about ready to give up? ” 

She turned to Alf and “ Frisky.” 

“ These men—I didn’t know they were policemen 
then—came running up, and drove him away. 
Then they told me to come here this morning. And 
I went home.” 

“ Old Buzzer ” bit his pencil as if it were a 
cigar. 

“ A simple story,” he observed. “ Perfectly plain 
throughout. You said this man seemed 6 nice ’ at 
the movie. He doesn’t seem so now.” 

Slayton flushed in resentment under his apprais¬ 
ing glance. 

“ Hid you have much to do with his changed ap¬ 
pearance? ” 

“ Oh, Judge! I couldn’t fight him off. He was 
too strong.” 

There was a trace of tears in her voice. 

“Well, don’t cry about it now. Step aside.” 

Roughly indulgent to her, the magistrate’s voice 
hardened as he addressed Slayton: 

“ Smith, who beat you up? ” 

“ My name isn’t ‘ Smith.’ ” 

George stiffened under the lash of sharp com¬ 
mand. 


170 



OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


“ 6 Joseph Smith/ the complaint against you says. 
What is your name, then? ” 

iC George Slayton.” 

Waiting prisoners schooled in court technique 
viewed his claim and attitude with disfavor. 

“ Not thus,” their pursed lips seemed to say, “ is 
the heart of justice softened.” 

“ Old Buzzer ” regarded him with dangerous 
solicitude. 

“ Belated, I suppose, to the Slayton family 
famous just now? ” 

“ Jabez Slayton’s son.” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

The judge glanced inquiringly about the court¬ 
room. 

“ But I don’t see any of your family here this 
morning.” 

u I’ve had no chance to communicate with them.” 

“ Did you ask for bail, or a lawyer? ” 

“ Both. And that was all the good it did me.” 

Alf and “ Frisky ” shrugged their denial. But 
“ Old Buzzer ” did not question them. 

“ Perhaps,” he said to George, “ you won’t need 
either. Let’s hear your side of the case now.” 

“ It’s short.” 

With permission to speak he shook off awkward¬ 
ness born of his humiliation. Now, despite dis¬ 
hevelled appearance, he bore himself with the as¬ 
surance of one used to respect. 

Briefly, he reviewed the tale of what started as 

171 


IN TEE TENTH MOON 


a stroll. His meeting with the girl; her appeal for 
protection; her seeming innocence; the surprise of 
her outcry. And in the midst of his bewilderment 
the police attack, followed by his arrest. 

“ The name of 4 Joseph Smith/ ” he concluded, 
“ is a present from the sergeant that booked me.” 

“And he wouldn’t let you send for a lawyer?” 
mused the judge. 

“ Worse than that. They tried to browbeat me 
into a confession. And wound up by putting some¬ 
thing into ginger ale that kept me unconscious 
until just before I was brought here this morning. 
. . . That’s the story.” 

“ A very remarkable story.” 

The judge chewed his pen reflectively. 

“ Either you are an accomplished liar, or you 
have been shamefully used. . . . What have 

you to say? ” 

He turned suddenly to Alf and “Frisky,” who 
seemed bursting with speech. Alf was the quicker. 

«It’s all a lie.” 

“Not a word of truth in it, Judge,” “Frisky” 
chimed in. 

“ With this issue of veracity,” said “ Old Buz¬ 
zer,” “ I think I will make an investigation. We’ll 
pass the case for the present.” 

Back to the station house. And every hour pre¬ 
cious. Slayton played his trump card. 

“ You don’t remember seeing me before, Judge 
Falconer? ” 


172 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


“ Have I?” 

The judge looked at him with fresh interest. But 
his eyes held no look of recognition. 

“ Ho you remember drawing a will for Mrs. 
Reeves, Jabez Slayton’s sister? She died in New 
York about four years ago.” 

“ I do,” the judge responded. “ What’s that to 
you? ” 

Now he regarded Slayton with the zest of a 
pointer that picks up a fresh trail. And George 
blessed the thread of memory dependent upon 
that reddish topknot, and the singular toss of the 
head. 

“ May I remind you,” he went on, “ that George 
Slayton was one of the witnesses to that will? ” 

“ Old Buzzer ” considered. 

u That’s right. He was. See here, Mr.—Slayton. 
I think you are at least entitled to an immediate 
inquiry. Who shall I send for to identify you? ” 

“ Mr. Robert Kent knows me.” 

il Excellent.” The judge turned to a court officer. 
“ Find Mr. Robert Kent, and ask him to do me the 
favor of a call here at his earliest convenience. 
And have the complainant and prosecuting wit¬ 
nesses in this case remain.” 

He looked about. With a somewhat sulky ex¬ 
pression, Alf and “ Frisky ” held their ground. But 
the girl had disappeared. 

“Where is the complainant?” demanded the 
judge. 


173 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ I don’t know, Your Honor,” said Alf, the 
spokesman. 

“ She was here a minute ago,” added “ Frisky.” 

There was something menacing in the topknot 
as “ Old Buzzer ” inclined his head. And the sug¬ 
gestion was intensified by unusual slowness of 
speech. 

“Very singular,” he observed. “But I think 
you two can find her. And don’t be long about it. 
. . . Step aside, Mr. ”—he hesitated a moment, 

then finished,—“ Slayton.” 

jtfow an officer pointed to a chair outside the de¬ 
tention pen. This sign of improved standing 
George received gratefully. Then, with the sharp¬ 
ened interest of one himself threatened by the law’s 
teeth, he watched processes of the judicial mill. 

Most defendants seemed already known, and thus 
ticketed. Occasionally prompted by the clerk, sit¬ 
ting just below him, “ Old Buzzer ” handed out 
sentences with the calm precision of everyday busi¬ 
ness. First offenders had full opportunity of state¬ 
ment. But familiars at the bar were apt to hear 
sentence pronounced in the midst of florid explana¬ 
tion. 

Hands of the big wall clock passed eleven, and 
approached high noon. The business of the morn¬ 
ing session was nearly finished. And still no sign 
of Mr. Kent. As each prisoner was dismissed 
George felt the station house bars draw closer. He 
could not expect the judge to tarry on his account. 

174 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


A possible injustice would not outweigh plain need 
of lunch. As he grew increasingly nervous it 
seemed to him that Alf and “ Frisky,” who had un¬ 
obtrusively returned, and whispered occasionally 
with an eye on the judge, gained in composure. 

At last the “ psychologic moment.” As the pris¬ 
oner’s pen was cleared of its last occupant, and 
“ Old Buzzer ” leaned back with a sigh of relief, 
through the swinging court-room doors came Mr. 
Bobert Kent. Unusual exertion, plus the heat of 
the day, had made his florid face very red. But to 
Slayton he wore the beauty of a bright angel of 
deliverance. He mopped his brow with a great 
lavender handkerchief as, with greeting and 
apology, he made his way to the bench. 

“ No excuses, please.” 

“ Old Buzzer ” spoke with a graciousness Slay¬ 
ton had not seen before. 

“ I appreciate your attendance in a matter that 
may prove of no interest to you. But we’ve a pris¬ 
oner claiming false arrest, who says you can vouch 
for him.” 

u Ah, yes. I see.” 

The senior partner of the eminent firm of Kent, 
Farquhar & Cromwell looked a trifle astonished as 
his eyes explored the immediate vicinity. 

“ Bring c Joseph Smith ’ here,” directed the 
judge. 

Resentful, but obedient, Slayton did not wait for 
escort. Stepping briskly to the bar, he stood fac- 

175 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


ing his shield, if indeed he had one. Mr. Kent 
looked at him with amazement. Then with half- 
incredulous recognition. 

“ Why, Slayton,” he said. “ What has happened 
to you? ” 

“ The police.” 

“ Then you recognize him? ” asked “ Old Buzzer.” 

“ As George Slayton. Jabez Slayton’s son. 
There’s no doubt of it. Though,” with further in¬ 
ventory of Slayton’s trampish condition, “he has 
seemingly taken pains to disguise himself. . . . 

May I ask the charge? I will appear for him, if he 
desires it.” 

As he turned inquiringly, Slayton answered,— 
“ Very much.” 

“ The charge is assault,” explained the judge. “ I 
think the best way to post you is to hear the evi¬ 
dence again. Mr. Officer, call the complainant and 
witnesses in the case against Joseph Smith.” 

With manifest reluctance Alf and “ Frisky ” left 
their seats in a corner. But no girl appeared. 

“ I sent you to bring back the complainant,” the 
judge reminded them. 

“ We couldn’t find her, Your Honor.” 

For once “ Frisky ” took the lead. 

“ Has she no address? ” 

“ She wasn’t where she said she lived.” 

“ Old Buzzer ” pulled his topknot reflectively. 

“As I recall, she vanished about the time Mr. 
Slayton finished his statement, and asked for Mr. 

176 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


Kent, who identifies Min beyond question. Her 
disappearance, and the fact that Mr. Slayton was 
forced to plead here under the name of ‘ Smith 7 
makes me regard this case with suspicion.” 

“ If there’s anything crooked, we had nothing to 
do with it.” 

Alf spoke promptly, even glibly. 

“ Save your defense,” said “ Old Buzzer.” “ You 
may need it. For the present, I am inclined to 
place Mr. Slayton in the custody of his counsel. 
If Mr. Kent will accept the responsibility.” 

“ I shall be happy to do so, Your Honor.” 

“ Very well.” The judge picked up his scattered 
papers. “ Court is adjourned.” 

As Slayton left the court-room with his counsel 
he was painfully conscious of the contrast in their 
appearance. They must seem, he thought, the vaga¬ 
bond and the philanthropist. And he was con¬ 
scious of Alf and “ Frisky,” following them with 
malevolent eyes. 

“ Here we are,” observed the tactful Kent, at the 
same time hailing a taxi driver. “ Where do you 
want to go ? ” 

“ The Racquet Club,” said Slayton as the chauf¬ 
feur impersonally slammed the cab door. 

Brief silence as they jolted over the cobbles of 
down-town streets. Then the lawyer spoke, with 
unaccustomed diffidence: 

“ Don’t let me bother you. But can you tell me 
in a few words what the rumpus is about? ” 

177 


IN TEE TENTH MOON 


“ I can. Little girl asks protection. Foolish man 
promises to help her. She rewards him by yelling 
for help. Two of her obliging friends pop up as 
witnesses. Also as police officers. Off would-be 
knight goes to the station house, somewhat battered 
up. And they insist on booking him as ‘ Joseph 
Smith/ ” 

“ But what’s the game? ” 

Mr. Kent was manifestly perplexed. 

“ Did they try to shake you down? ” 

“ Kever asked me for a dollar.” 

“ Then I don’t understand it.” 

“ I think I do.” 

“ Will you enlighten me? ” 

“ Simply this.” 

Once more Slayton went back to the Army and 
Kavy game. To the crush at the exit, and his dis¬ 
covery of Leila’s ruby set in diamonds. Then his 
vain pursuit of the wearer, and her escort, the 
policeman called “Fritz.” Lastly, details of his 
false arrest and arraignment. 

“Urn,” said Mr. Kent, with a thoughtful drum¬ 
ming on the window. “ A clear police plant.” 

At that moment the taxi stopped before Slayton’s 
club. The lawyer grew suddenly energetic. 

“ At last,” he declared, “ here’s something to go 
on. The next trial will end in acquittal. I was 
confident of that before. But I want no clouds left 
on the horizon. We must come from court without 
a stain on Mrs. Slayton’s reputation.” 

178 



OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


“ I hope so,” said George with eloquent simplic¬ 
ity. 

Sensing the undertone, Kent laid a sympathetic 
hand on his arm. 

“ What you need now,” he observed, “ is a bath 
and sleep. Come round to-morrow, and we’ll plan 
the campaign. There’s one advantage at least. 

“ If the police are hard to get at, they are also 
easy to find. Your hair-dresser’s husband isn’t 
likely to run away. He’ll want to, though, before 
we get through with your fake assault case. I’ll 
smoke them out on that at the earliest opportunity. 
. . . Maybe to-morrow. Anyway, come around. 

Take care of yourself meantime. Let little girls 
rescue themselves. . . . Good-bye.” 

He was whirled away, with a parting wave of 
the hand, and Slayton went up the club steps. The 
doorman looked askance at a disreputable appear¬ 
ing figure. With swelling dignity he waited, as the 
intruder mounted to the door. 

“ What-” he began roughly. 

“ What-? ” he repeated, almost politely, as 

doubt assailed him. 

“ What? ”. 

With open mouth he stared in blank amazement. 

“ Accidents will happen, Parker,” observed Slay¬ 
ton casually, and went on up-stairs. 

When he had bathed he was in no mood for sleep. 
He felt within himself the ambition and capacity 
for fierce endeavor. Kent could say—“To-mor- 

179 




IN THE TENTH MOON 


row.” His interest in Leila was only tliat of a; 
lawyer. His hope of happiness was not in her de¬ 
liverance. 

“But I can’t rest”—Slayton addressed his re¬ 
flected likeness—“ until I know what those hounds 
are up to now.” 

Thought turned to the captain as he dressed for 
the street. An ally with infinite leisure and rare 
knowledge of the world. He had begged to be en¬ 
rolled in the hunt for Frank Slayton’s murderer. 
. . . Why not look him up? Anyway, an 

apology was due him for desertion the day before. 

With a cab provided by the now eagerly attentive 
doorman Slayton was soon on his way down-town. 

Yes, the captain was in. 

“ I think he’s expecting you, Major,” beaming 
Patrick assured him. He bestowed titles freely on 
his master’s friends. 

Captain Clifford sat in a purple dressing-gown, 
like a prelate robed. If he had any occupation but 
smoking, it was not evident. 

“ Welcome,” he said, and rose with extended 
hand. 

“ I hardly expected it,” Slayton observed, “ after 
yesterday.” 

“ ISTo apology, please.” 

The captain turned a restraining gesture into a 
suggestive motion toward his cigar box. 

“ Be comfortable. You were anything but that 
the last time I saw you. From the way you leaped 

180 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 

into that taxi I knew it was something extra-ur¬ 
gent.” 

“It was,” Slayton assented, “very important. 
And that’s what I’ve come to see you about.” 

In the captain’s eyes shone a keener light, as he 
waited silently expectant. 

“ Do you remember a big man with a stiff black 
mustache? And a handsome, wild-looking girl in 
a red dress? They were squeezed in with us on the 
way out from the game.” 

“ I ought to remember them.” The captain 
touched his chest delicately. “ The fellow nearly 
broke a few of my ribs.” 

“ Likely enough, he’s done worse than that in his 
time. You know, the girl wore a ring that exactly 
answers the description of one stolen from Leila 
Slayton’s dresser the night of the murder. An odd 
ring. Diamonds and a ruby, with a black spot at 
in his turn. 

“ No wonder you were after them.” 

A slight access of color stained the captain’s 
cheek. And he opened his hooded eyes a little 
wider. 

“ What luck with the chase? ” he inquired. 

As Slayton went on, leading into his encounter 
with the pathetic appearing girl, the trap sprung 
in his arrest, and his experience with the police, he 
listened without comment. Now and then he blew 
a wide smoke ring, and through it a smaller one. 
When the story was done, with Kent’s providential 

181 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

appearance in court, lie knocked his pipe on the 
fender. 

“We must dress for labor/’ he said as he rose, 
and stepped in his dressing-gown into an adjoining 
room. 

Left to his owm devices, Slayton absent-mindedly 
drew from a waistcoat pocket the monocle he had 
felt would somehow yield a clue. Now the trail of 
the ring allured, and he attached to it no great im¬ 
portance. As a photograph suddenly fixed his at¬ 
tention he put it down on the table. 

A small photograph in a pocket case, from which 
it protruded, so that from eyes to crowning hair 
the head was visible. A girlish face that stirred 
him with haunting resemblance. 

He stooped to see it closely, fascinated, and 
almost irresistibly moved to take it from its cover. 

“ Looking at my souvenirs ? ” asked the captain 
casually at his elbow. 

Slayton straightened suddenly. 

“ Pardon my curiosity,” he said with slight stiff¬ 
ness. “ It’s a face curiously like one I know.” 

“ Funny—these resemblances,” assented the cap¬ 
tain, as he drew the picture from its case and ex¬ 
tended it to Slayton for further inspection. 

“ Does the full face sustain your impression? ” 

“ Remarkably. It is so like someone I know, I 
could almost swear it is she. Taken, perhaps, ten 
years ago.” 

“ That’s going rather far.” 

182 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


The captain picked up the eye-glass on the table, 
adjusted it, and gazed earnestly at the photograph 
in his turn. 

“ To be sure,” he said. “ You mean Mrs. Slay¬ 
ton. It’s enough like her, or rather more than 
enough like her, to be her twin. No wonder you 
were startled.” 

He dropped the monocle in a pocket, and de¬ 
posited the photograph in a sandalwood box. 
Meantime he conversationally closed the incident. 

“ It’s a girl I met in Buenos Ayres years ago. 
English and Spanish, I think she was. And rather 
a dear. I liked her a lot. And now I can’t re¬ 
member her name. That’s what age does to us, 
Slayton.” 

With slight grimace he took up his hat and stick. 

“ Shall we go now? ” 

Slayton was unprepared for this sudden display 
of energy. 

“ Where ? ” he asked. 

“ Wherever your Fritz, the black-mustached 
villain, happens to be.” 

Slayton hesitated. 

“ I’m keen to start,” he said. “ But I think I 
ought to see Mr. Kent first. He suggested my com¬ 
ing around to block out a campaign.” 

“Very well. To-morrow, then.” The captain 
put down his hat and stick. “ And remember, you 
command me at any time. Kow may I suggest,” 
as he stepped to the door with Slayton, “ that you 

183 


IN TEE TENTH MOON 


get the hair-dresser’s address. Mrs. Slayton’s maid 
will have it. They always do.” 

“ Thanks. I will.” 

As Slayton crossed the park he chided himself for 
caprice. Impatient with the thought of delay, he 
had come to enlist the captain in his hunt for the 
girl with the ring. Then, having found him ready 
for instant action, he himself had interposed an ex¬ 
cuse for delay. Why? For no reason he could 
think of. Unless one might so dignify his feeling 
about the photograph. 

It was sheer nonsense, of course. It wasn’t 
Leila. The captain did not know her. . . . 

But suppose he did. And further suppose it was 
indeed a photograph of her, taken years ago. Was 
there anything wrong in that? And why should he 
know of an acquaintance existing years before he 
met Leila? She did not know he had ever met the 
captain. And, sensing as he quite surely did his 
feeling for her, the captain would not parade it. 
Were he even a little evasive about it, that would 
be forgivable. 

Feeling he had made a mountain out of a mole¬ 
hill, if the mole-hill existed, Slayton hailed a taxi, 
and gave Kent’s address, with succinct direction: 

“ Drive like-” 

The driver’s conception of obedience landed him 
soon and dishevelled at the main entrance to the 
warren in which Kent, Farquhar & Cromwell were 
spaciously established on the topmost floor. As the 

184 



OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


elevator bore him upward be reflected Kent would 
be astonished at bis early appearance. 

But Kent was not in. A clerk added tbe infor¬ 
mation that be was out of tbe city. 

“ Are you sure? ” Slayton was incredulous. “ I 
rode up-town with him about three hours ago.” 

Tbe clerk did not deny that. Soon after Mr. 
Kent came in, he explained, be was called on tbe 
long distance telephone by Washington, and left for 
there on the one-thirty express. He did not even 
go to his house. A bag was packed for him, and 
sent to the station. When would he return? He 
didn’t say. 

“ Is there anything we can do for you? ” asked 
the clerk finally. 

There was not. Feeling someone in Washing¬ 
ton had behaved reprehensibly, Slayton turned 
away. 

What next to do? Should he go to see Leila? 
It was a natural thing, he reasoned, to do. Her de¬ 
cree of separation was not meant to handicap the 
fight for her freedom. . . . But Slayton knew his 
immediate urgent desire was to settle the question 
of her acquaintance with Captain Clifford. Would 
he ask? After all, what right had he to question 
her? What would she think? He shrank from the 
appearance of suspicion. 

Slayton pondered the question as a swaying 
strap-hanger in the subway. And he revolved it 
still when, leaving the tube some blocks below, he 

185 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


crossed the intervening streets and swung into the 
Avenue, toward the Slayton mansion. 

It was mid-afternoon, and very quiet. A police¬ 
man sunning himself on the corner nearest the Slay¬ 
ton lions was for the moment the only human in 
sight. He raised his club in what seemed perfunc¬ 
tory admonition to some trifling malefactor of the 
park. 

A minute, or it may have been two minutes, later 
a bystander might have seen a black limousine 
rounding the corner of 81st Street, and coming up 
leisurely. It passed Slayton, who casually noted 
the chauffeur was not in livery. A sharp-faced fel¬ 
low, wearing a long visored cap. As he slouched 
at the wheel he had the air of one taking the motor 
out for an airing. 

A little below Slayton’s the car was turned in to 
the curb, and stopped. At once the officer came to¬ 
ward it, presumably to admonish the driver. Slay¬ 
ton was almost near enough to hear the familiar: 

“ Hey! No parking here.” 

Truth to tell, he did not note that the ensuing 
conversation was seemingly of an amiable, if not 
confidential, nature. The policeman leaned for¬ 
ward from the curb, and the chauffeur reciprocated 
from his seat at the wheel. 

“ Excuse me, sir,” said the officer as Slayton 
passed, wrapped in thought of Leila and a question. 
Thus accosted he turned; and the patrolman 
added: 


186 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 


“ Can you give me the time? I’ve let my watch 
run down.” 

“ Ten after three,” said Slayton shortly, with 
feeling for policemen born of last night’s experience 
chilling his voice. 

He turned away, and went on. That moment the 
door of the limousine was opened. It opened 
quickly under the guiding hand of a man who 
emerged with the silent suddenness of some stalk¬ 
ing beast of prey. One with the opportunity of 
cursory observation would have noted he was short 
and broad, with a suggestion of Slavic blood in the 
face momentarily exposed in his crouching descent. 
His right hand held something familiar to police 
and men of the underworld addicted to violent 
crime. 

With a spring he was on the sidewalk. And a 
few seconds of stealthy speed brought his pursuit 
to its end. Just too late Slayton sensed danger. 
His half-turn in unreasoned apprehension afforded 
but a glimpse of something upraised and ominous 
he vainly tried to dodge. The sand-bag wielded by 
his stalker descended with paralyzing force over 
his right ear. 

A short blow, but delivered with tremendous 
energy. For a fraction of a second Slayton’s eyes 
were blinded in the enormous rush of shooting 
lights that seemed to scorch the very heavens. 
Then complete darkness engulfed him. He fell for¬ 
ward, so that his face was buried in the short grass 

187 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


flanking the walk. His arms were outstretched 
grotesquely on the pavement. 

Now the policeman was galvanized into activity. 
After a quick turn, to assure himself there was no 
danger of interference, he ran forward to where 
Slayton lay. 

“ Quick! ” he said to the man bending over his 
victim. 

One on either side, they raised the inert body, 
and dragged it the few yards to the motor. The 
human rat at the wheel reached back to open the 
door closed by him after his companion’s sudden 
exit. Stepping in, Slayton’s assailant reached out 
for what was left of him. The officer lifted, while 
he pulled. 

There was a momentary delay, as the officer 
grunted a request for time to get a grip without 
exposure to dark blood flowing sluggishly from 
clots in the matted hair. Turning a face with slight 
semblance of life to the left, he gave a vigorous 
shove. And the man within lifted strongly. The 
job was done. 

Pulled from within, the door of the limousine 
closed sharply. In a few seconds the car was under 
way. Throughout its stop in the Avenue the engine 
had been kept running. But quick as he was in 
his departure, the chauffeur betrayed no anxiety, or 
need of haste. At moderate and gradually accele¬ 
rated speed he turned the nearest corner. And the 

188 


OFFICERS AND OUTCASTS 

next right he took, swinging into a street leading 
up-town. 

By this time a pedestrian had appeared near the 
scene of the assault. He noted a small spot of fresh 
blood on the sidewalk, and looked nervously over 
his shoulder, as if expecting to be taxed with re¬ 
sponsibility. Then he hurried onward. 

The Slayton lions still guarded either side of old 
Jabez’s steps. But they told nothing. Their ap¬ 
pearance was that of beasts about to sleep. And 
the policeman who knew what had happened to 
George Slayton went down the Avenue, whistling 
softly as he swung his stick. 


189 


CHAPTER XI 


AND LEILA RIDES 

To save him Leila had sent Slayton away. There 
was a secret in her heart she could not bid him 
enter. And bitter months had so impregnated her 
consciousness with the web of circumstantial evi¬ 
dence drawn about her that sometimes she seemed 
to feel it as physical substance pressing into her 
flesh. 

Hope she could, but walk alone she must. Forti¬ 
tude rallied its forces. And she was steady again 
as she turned toward life, closing a compartment 
of tender memory with Slayton’s disappearance, an 
incarnation of vigorous resolve. He somehow 
seemed so young. And she as old as grief. 

When Marie entered she smiled. 

“ Oh, Madame! ” 

The maid’s face was eloquent with joyous sur¬ 
prise. 

“ What is it, Marie? ” 

“ I am so glad.” 

Here at least was a heart of gold; a heart athrill 
with adoration. Leila bethought herself of a way 
to reward it. 

“ I wonder,” she said, “ if I have anything fit to 
wear this season.” 


190 


AND LEILA RIDES 


Marie’s face grew radiant. 

“ Madame feels—so much better. I knew it.” 

“ It is partly your doing, Marie.” 

She put a hand on the maid’s shoulder—very 
gently. 

“ We are happier, you know, with those who love 
us.” Warm lips were pressed upon her fingers. 
“ Now let us go up, and rummage.” 

Humming as she worked, Marie invaded trunks, 
closets, and packing-cases. The contents of drawers 
she sorted with ardor. And Leila submitted to her 
with indifferent sweetness. 

But once calmness deserted her. It was when 
Marie held up for her inspection a gown of black 
veined with silver. At sight of it memory pierced 
her like a sword. She had worn it that night when 
lips long sealed had yielded a tender confession. 
The only time George Slayton had held her in his 
arms. 

“ Put it away,” she said, and averted her face. 

With wistful eyes Marie obeyed. 

Now the minutes seemed to lengthen. The crea¬ 
tions of beauty about her Leila viewed as a sad 
stranger. 

At last luncheon came to her relief, routine with 
its erasing absorption of time. Though she had 
little appetite, she rose from the table regretfully. 

She stood at the window, and saw life whirling 
past. Mellow weather, and Saturday afternoon. 
The week-end in which those whose vocation is 

191 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


amusement receive somehow a fillip from the multi¬ 
tude snatching its scanty hour of play. 

Leila remembered Slayton’s mention of the Army 
and Navy game. He was there now—one with so¬ 
ciety that had placed her under its ban. But at 
least the great outdoors, and God’s free air, for the 
time being were hers. 

She pressed a button. And presently down the 
hall came the “ Click-click ” of Marie’s heels. 

“ We are going for a ride,” Leila said without 
turning. “ Will you get me a wrap, and order the 
closed motor? ” 

“ Yes, Madame.” 

No need to turn to know pleasure so coloring the 
maid’s voice. 

Soon they were in the midst of traffic, threading 
their way to quiet streets. The contact, more 
mental than physical, was strangely disquieting to 
one long shut off. 

“Anywhere, so long as we keep out of the crowd,” 
Leila had instructed the chauffeur. 

They rolled through parks, and past children at 
play. And within a few miles of the nation’s great 
parade ground of Fifth Avenue they chanced upon 
streets as rustic as those of some sleepy village in 
the Catskills. 

When the sun was low they came down the Hud¬ 
son. In the rich haze its rugged banks saluted the 
eye much as they must have done when Henrik 
Hudson picked his cautious way. And the smoke 

192 


AND LEILA RIDES 


of industry enhanced the glory of the sky. Under 
its flaming banners floated the ships of commerce 
—poetic, strange. Leila felt her soul cleansed and 
comforted. 

Dinner past, she was moved to play. Old airs, 
simple, sweet, and restful withal. The music men 
write in times of great trouble. . . . By the 
piano Marie sat, her face bright with happiness. 

With its inevitable sadness the day had brought 
a measure of relaxation. Leila felt less like the 
numbered creature of a soulless system as, retiring 
early, she turned off her reading light. Plato had 
not consoled her the night before. Now she trusted 
to Nature’s ministrations. 

After a time sleep, less urgently wooed, came. 
And music threaded through Leila’s dream. It was 
“ Fidelio ”; and clarinet and bassoon sang Flores- 
tan’s dungeon aria. The tide of passion rose to the 
trumpet calls of deliverance. In the last crowning 
outburst of triumphant gladness she woke. 

Was it a symbol? She wondered, as conscious¬ 
ness groped for the findings of sleep. And so she 
passed again to the anodyne of dreams. 

The full graciousness of October was manifest 
when daylight came. Sunlight poured warmly 
through an open window. And somewhere near 
a lingering bird of summer brightened the moment 
by his rill of song. 

In the midst of her toilet there came to Leila a 
vision of leafy stretches along bridle paths in the 

193 


IN TEE TENTH MOON 

park. And of poor Scipio moping in Ms stall. A 
groom might exercise him. But who in the months 
of her enforced absence had offered confidences to 
waggling ears ? Or sugar to his nuzzling lips ? 

She felt strong impulse to test in a surging 
canter the sweetness of release. Marie, quickened 
by love to divine her every mood, would under¬ 
stand. With a little smile she turned to her with a 
question: 

“ What shall I do this afternoon? ” 

“ It is a beautiful day,” Marie hopefully sug¬ 
gested. 

“ For a ride in the park,” her mistress supple¬ 
mented. 

“ Oh, Madame! . . . The blue habit? ” 

“ If you think so.” 

Hastily, lest her idol experience a change of 
heart, Marie drew the habit from its closet. With 
a slight uplift of spirit she had not experienced 
since the dark night that so distorted life Leila 
put it on. 

“ There will be no more beautiful lady in the 
park,” the maid said with enthusiasm, as she sur¬ 
veyed the finishing touch. 

“ You are prejudiced, Marie. But I like to have 
you think so.” 

Unprejudiced eyes might have found that in 
Marie’s estimate love did not err. By its revealing 
simplicity the habit brought out beauty of line and 
fine poise. Leila’s careless glance at her mirror 

194 


AND LEILA RIDES 


turned to keener interest. For the first time she 
saw herself with the eyes of a woman who prizes a 
man’s love. 

The telephone rang, and Marie took up the re¬ 
ceiver on the dressing-table. 

“ What is it? ” she asked. “ Yes. . . . Will 
you give to me the message? ” 

Again she listened, and answered: “ I will ask.” 

“ A man wishes to see you, Madame,” she ex¬ 
plained. 

“ What does he want? ” 

“ He says he must tell it to Madame—alone.” 

Suspicion entered Leila’s mind. Was this an¬ 
other ruse of the press? With the resourcefulness 
of reporters she had had painful experience. 

“ Tell him,” she instructed, “ I cannot see him, 
unless I know in advance what he wants.” 

From further colloquy the maid turned with an 
expression of relief. 

“ It is Mr. George sends him.” 

“ Where is he? ” 

“ Here, Madame. He speaks on the house tele¬ 
phone.” 

u Tell him I will come down.” 

Leila descended with tenderness and conjecture 
in her mind. Tenderness for Slayton in that, 
strong as she knew his need of her to be, he re¬ 
mained aloof in obedience to her will. But for 
some good reason, a reason trusted to neither tele¬ 
phone nor post, he had sent a messenger to her. 

195 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


. . . Had lie already discovered something im¬ 
portant in her case? 

At first glance she decided the messenger was not 
George’s friend. Possibly some sort of employe. 
Tall and dark, his bristling mustache and hard 
black eyes pointed truculent personality. His 
dress was the commonplace dress of millions of 
nondescript men. His manners, awkward. Stand¬ 
ing by a window as Leila entered, he turned with 
a little bow. 

“ You wish to see me? ” she questioned. 

“ A message from Mr. George Slayton, Ma’am.” 

“ Well,” she said with a trace of haughtiness; for 
the man made no movement of delivery. “ Give it 
to me.” 

“ He sent me to tell you.” 

“ What? ” 

“ That he has gone away for a while, Ma’am. 
And not to worry.” 

“ Is that aH? ” 

“ Yes, Ma’am.” 

It was strange. A message that, with their com¬ 
pact of aloofness, had no meaning. And an as¬ 
sumption of intimacy confided to a menial stran¬ 
ger, whose manner was subtly insolent. She was 
tempted to dismiss him without further question. 
But anxiety conquered pride. 

“ Why did he not write? ” 

u I don’t know, Ma’am. He seemed to be in a 
hurry.” 


196 


AND LEILA RIDES 


“ Do you know where he is? ” she asked after a 
moment’s hesitation. 

“ I can’t say.” 

What seemed like stubbornness appeared in the 
man’s manner, as he stood there, twirling his hat. 

“ What is your name? ” she asked, with a view of 
future checking. 

“ Smith, Ma’am. John Smith.” 

Somehow his answer impressed her as a palpable 
invention. 

“ Thank you,” she said, as she drew from her 
purse a bank-note extended with the gesture of 
largess. He took it readily enough, and backed 
from the room with a little bow. Watching a min¬ 
ute at a window, she saw him accosted by a police¬ 
man on the comer. Possibly to learn why one of 
his appearance came from the front door of a Fifth 
Avenue mansion, instead of the servants’ quarters. 
At any rate, he was not detained. Going on, he 
was lost to view in a West Side street. 

“ Madame—is going out? ” 

It was Marie at her elbow, a picture of solici¬ 
tude. 

“ Yes,” she said. “ And you’re coming with me. 
I want more freedom than the life of the park 
to-day. We’ll go to the cottage instead.” 

“ Ah! ” said Marie in pure ecstasy. 

u Scipio will be glad to see me. They tell me no 
one else rides him. Will you ask Carlin to order 
the car?” 


197 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Yes, Madame.” 

As Leila waited at the window buoyancy de¬ 
parted from her. And cold clouds that habitually 
banked her horizon in recent months came rolling 
up again. To the burden of her own situation was 
added anxiety for Slayton. 

The meaning of the call and message, if indeed it 
was a message from George, she could not make out. 
Some clarifying thought might come in the open. 
But no light was vouchsafed as the car bore her 
swiftly and smoothly through the parkway, on to¬ 
ward open country. 

Some thirty miles they rode with grave abstrac¬ 
tion on the part of her mistress that Marie noted 
with timid solicitude. As the chauffeur drove 
through the entrance to one of the Slayton country 
places made her own in the sense of personal super¬ 
vision she was still in doubt what, if anything, to do. 

She embraced with her eyes the hospitable seem¬ 
ing Mansard roof, and turned abruptly to the wait¬ 
ing chauffeur. 

“ Have Scipio sent over at once.” 

Presently appeared the horse, a dancing chestnut. 
And at his flank a groom bestrode a big gray. 

“ No escort to-day,” she said, as she stepped from 
the groom’s hand to the saddle. 

“ Very well, Madam. At what time shall I 
call ? ” 

“ You needn’t call. I will stop at the stable.” 

Looking a bit dubiously at her restive mount, he 

198 


AND LEILA RIDES 


touched his cap and rode slowly away. As she 
tightened the reins, the merest touch, they were off 
with a sharp clatter of hoofs. 

What need to return? 

Glimpses of neighboring roofs grew scarcer, and 
the highways less groomed. She cantered down 
roads in which the vision of a woman on horseback 
thrilled slovenly natives as some fleeting vision of 
the screen. 

After a time her blood grew calmer. And Scipio 
was left largely to his own devices. He could not 
help her think. 

What to think? The message was still a com¬ 
plete puzzle. As she pondered it, the more sinister 
it seemed. 

Mr. Kent must be told. Probably should have 
been told without loss of time. Chiding herself for 
even a few hours’ delay, she yet shrank from con¬ 
fiding to him her alarm. For in all the lawyer’s 
efforts on her behalf it had never been intimated 
that Slayton’s interest in her was more than that 
of a sympathetic friend. 

Scipio paused by a ploughed field in a region of 
market gardens. It was a crossroads corner, with 
one road lost to view in its curving climb of a 
wooded hill. On the far edge of the furrowed ex¬ 
panse figures of men bent to labor seemed no less 
a product of the soil than crimsoning maples 
against which they were displayed, as on a screen. 
All the countryside was cradled in the arms of 

199 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

Indian summer. Not even a dog barked in the 
distance. 

“ R-r-rh! Rr-r-r-uh! ” 

Out of the concealing curve at the foot of the 
hill rushed a big car. Almost brushing Scipio’s 
bridle, it came upon horse and rider without warn¬ 
ing. And with its mountingly discordant cry it 
was lost to view in a cloud of dust. 

The cloud settled slowly. And when the air was 
clear again Scipio had vanished. What of his 
rider? One happening to look that way might have 
seen in the neighboring field, and against the inner 
edge of its enclosing wall, a trim foot and a bit of 
blue habit. 

Near its zenith the mounting sun poured mellow 
warmth. A chipmunk came scherzo from a neigh¬ 
boring tree, and gave the foot resting so still 
against the wall bright-eyed observation. Then it 
went its way in quest of nuts with a casual observa¬ 
tion. 

Very long it would have seemed to one conscious 
and suffering before any human being came upon 
the scene. Then a sedate rattle of wheels foretold 
the approach of a farm wagon, drawn by a flea- 
bitten gray. With loosely held reins, his elbows 
resting on his knees, the driver seemed half-asleep. 
Would he pass unwitting? 

A bird burst from a bush with a sudden flutter of 
wings. And eyes languidly attracted brightened 
in keener interest. With a “ Whoa! ” and a check- 

200 


AND LEILA RIDES 


ing pressure on the reins, the man brought his cart 
to a stop, and sat looking at the boundary wall. 

At the wall, and the foot, mute signal of distress. 
Scratching his stubbled chin, the driver draped his 
reins on the nag’s trustworthy back, and climbed 
down. A somewhat elderly man, with rheumatism 
in his joints. He went gingerly, with a preliminary 
observation, over the wall. 

First, with a delicacy that obtains in simple so¬ 
ciety, he removed the foot from the wall, and 
smoothed the habit in a decorous fold. The woman 
was unconscious of his consideration. She lay on 
her left side, her head in a furrow—very still. So 
still it surpassed natural slumber. 

Jutting into the furrow, as the plough had rasped 
along its side, a partially upturned boulder was 
some inches distant from her head. Had she come 
into violent contact with it in falling? There was 
no blood on her face. Not even a bruise disfigured 
its paleness. 

Stooping, the man touched her cheek with his 
toil-stained fingers. She did not move, or open her 
eyes. The faint breath came and went too deli¬ 
cately for his observation. In her wrist he clumsily 
felt for the pulse. A faint but fairly regular beat. 

Straightening with a sigh of relief, he took stock 
of the situation. Then with much sighing, for the 
cold stiffness of age was in his stringy muscles, he 
lifted the inert body, and bore it carefully through 
a breach in the wall. Stripping his seat of its 

201 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


cushion, he made a head-rest on a pile of bagging. 
It was hard lifting her in. In the first effort he 
failed, rubbing his back ruefully when he had put 
her down. But the next effort was a success. So 
he put up the tail-board, and climbed again into his 
seat. 

As he lifted the reins from the gray’s back, it 
straightened legs that had seemed to prop it, lessen¬ 
ing the burden of direct support, and wagged its 
ears in token of reestablished understanding. A 
forefoot advanced soberly; and the cart moved with 
a slight squeaking of wheels. 

They had but a little way, seemingly, to go. Of 
its own accord the gray turned up a lane fenced 
with stone and bordered by elderly trees. Some 
hundreds of yards in from the road, and quite be¬ 
yond the range of passing travellers’ casual obser¬ 
vation, stood a large cream-colored house. 

A house of many windows. But on most of them 
the blinds were closed. Once the residence of some 
country gentleman, one would have said. But 
changed for the worse. In its later estate it had 
somewhat the look of an old and slatternly fellow 
—a slippered snuff-taker. 

Pulling up at the corner of the piazza, the old 
man uttered one of those half-articulate conjugal 
calls. From somewhere within the summons was 
answered. 


202 


CHAPTER XII 


AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 

“ What hit me? ” 

Slayton struggled with confused impressions. A 
slight movement of his head sent a stab of pain 
through the eyes. What was the matter with the 
back of his head, anyway? He tried to investigate 
with his right hand. Then with his left. Xo use. 
He could raise neither. 

The effort sharpened physical sensation and 
brought a measure of clearness to his laggard mind, 
groping its way through heavy mist. Xow he real¬ 
ized his hands were tied. From the feeling a stiff 
cord was the bond. It was so tight the hands were 
numb. And the slightest movement made him real¬ 
ize his wrists were badly chafed. They must have 
been bound for a considerable period. 

Instinctively he tried to ease his position. Then 
he knew his feet also were tied; and with the same 
thoroughness. Further, they were fastened to some 
solid base resisting his efforts to move. 

His head at least was free. And tactile sensa¬ 
tions of the body corroborated his eyes. ... It 
was night. Dim light admitted by a partially dark¬ 
ened window sufficed to show the room in which he 
lay was a large and sparsely furnished chamber. 

203 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


The bed in which he lay, a bureau he recognized 
by its outline, and one chair standing stiffly by the 
window,—seemed all the furniture. 

A slight sound, as of a match scratched, abruptly 
switched him from laborious appraisal of his sur¬ 
roundings to vigilant quest of a human presence. 
The sound came again. And with it relaxation. It 
was only the tapping of a branch against a window- 
pane. Seeing the tree’s swaying shadow, he regis¬ 
tered the fact that an upper-story room was his 
prison. 

Where was he? And how had he come there? 
He struggled back to the terrific shock of the last 
second before unconsciousness. Then another step. 
A policeman had accosted him to ask for the time 
of day. At the time it had seemed peculiar, con¬ 
sidering the precise schedule by which police offi¬ 
cers live and work. Now Slayton’s mind, shaken 
but retentive of events preceding this latest attack, 
identified it as part and parcel of a conspiracy to 
put him away. And apparently the conspirators 
were not particular about what occurred in the 
process. 

But how could this thing have happened, in mid¬ 
afternoon on Fifth Avenue? And almost within a 
stone’s-throw of his own home. 

As he cast about for some explanation the sound 
of voices came to his ears. Though he lay motion¬ 
less, and straining to hear, at first he could neither 
understand what was said nor where the voices 

204 


AT TEE HEAD OF TEE STAIRS 

came from. And still furtlier was he baffled as to 
means by which they were transmitted. At last he 
knew. 

The conversation was in the next room. That he 
gleaned by the sense of hearing. Discovery of the 
conductor involved a process of deduction. There 
was, he now perceived, a fireplace in the inner wall. 
And presumably its counterpart on the other side. 
Both probably in disuse, but with some ventilator 
left open. And thereby words of vital import came 
to him, as he lay there helplessly attentive. 

A man and a woman were speaking. Evidently 
they had no dread of being overheard. There was 
no effort to moderate tone. In the man’s voice a 
certain thickness and overemphasis betrayed in¬ 
dulgence in liquor. The woman’s voice was natu¬ 
rally heavy; and at first suggestive of defiant mood. 

“ What do I get out of this? ” 

The first words Slayton distinguished. It was 
the woman’s voice, with an accent of suspicion. 

“Well,” the man answered with a little laugh, 
“ you get me.” 

“ How do I know you won’t throw me down? ” 

“ Do you think Fritz Colahan is a four-flusher? ” 

“Well, you don’t give Dora much of a square 
deal.” 

She spoke half-defiantly, and added: 

“ Not that it’s any hunt of mine what you do to 
her.” 

“ Fritz Colahan? ” . . . “ Dora? ” 

205 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


With these names Slayton was possessed of a 
theory of his situation. If it was the Fritz before 
identified as a police detective, and the husband of 
Leila’s hair-dresser, garrulous Dora, with him, 
probably, was the girl he had discovered wearing 
Leila’s ring. ... So his quarry still insisted 
upon changing places with him. 

Now Fritz raised his voice in anger. 

“ Listen to me! What I do to Dora is no busi¬ 
ness of yours. Anybody might suppose I was leav¬ 
ing you instead of her.” 

“ But all the same-” 

“ Shut up! If you do as I tell you, you’ll come 
out all right. ... If you don’t!—Well, you 
know it ain’t healthy to monkey with the police.” 

“ I guess you’re in deeper than I am,” she re¬ 
torted. 

“ And I’m on the inside. You’re on the outside. 
That’s the difference. . . . Do you get me? ” 

Silence for a moment. Then he resumed. 

“All right, then. That’s understood. Now re¬ 
member: You keep a sharp eye out for strangers. 
Don’t forget the jig is up for us,—for you just the 
same as me, if that man is seen by anybody outside. 
. . . He won’t be, so long as you don’t slip up in 

looking after him. . . . See? ” 

“ But what’ll your father and mother think? ” 

“ The old man, and woman? ” 

Fritz’s voice was saturated with contempt. 
“Why, they’ll swallow anything I tell them. 

206 



AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 


Sometimes I wonder how they ever happened to 
have Fritz Colahan as a son.” He seemingly 
paused to luxuriate in self-satisfaction. Then he 
resumed: 

“ My old man thinks the feller tied up in there 
is a prisoner I was too busy to take to the station 
to-day. So I’ve just parked him here for the night.” 

“ How long will it be? ” the woman asked. 

“ A day or two, maybe. Till I can fix things for 
our getaway. There’s some diamonds to be sold.” 

“ One thing I got to know.” 

“Well?” 

His tone was challenging. 

“ I got a crush on you, Fritz. You know that, I 
guess. But I won’t put my neck in the noose for 
any man.” 

A brief silence. Then a sound as of a jug set 
down heavily. The woman spoke again. 

“ Better quit that. You’ve had too much to drink 
already. . . . And I want an answer.” 

“ What do you mean? ” Fritz said in surly fash¬ 
ion. 

“ Just this: I’m no fool.” 

Her voice rose defiantly. 

“ Now I want to know who the man is. Tell me 
that. And what’s all the row about the ring you 
gave me? You’re keeping me in the dark. I won’t 
stand it. I want a show-down.” 

Slayton was painfully alert lest he miss a sylla¬ 
ble of Fritz’s grudging answer. 

207 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

“You want to know too much,” he growled. 
a Just remember I’m working for you the same as 
me. Just remember that feller has got to be kept 
quiet. I’ll tell you who he is, and all about the 
ring, when we get aboard the ship. And that’s 
straight.” 

“ You wouldn’t double-cross me, Fritz? ” 

A fist smote a table. 

“ Hell, Angie! Don’t you want to go to South 
America? Wouldn’t you like to see a bull fight? 
And dance, and wear swell dresses? Amd have a 
drink when you want it? And by and by go to 
Paris? ... Of course you would. But what’s 
got into you? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

By her voice Slayton knew she was half-mollified. 
Presently she said: 

“ All right. I’ll do what you want.” 

One might have imagined the succeeding silence 
filled with a rough caress. A chair was pushed 
back, with sounds of the pair’s advance to the door. 
Then the man’s parting words: 

“ That’s the stuff. Play the game. To-morrow 
morning you plant yourself right here. Your job is 
to see this fellow stays flat.” 

“ Will I see you? ” she asked. 

“ Later in the day. I got to whack up with Alf 
and Frisky. But I’ll be back by noon. Then for 
good old Bio, and no more trouble. Hunky-dory, 
eh?” 


208 


AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 


“ All right. Good-night.” 

Her steps retreated. Those of Fritz advanced. 
They paused outside the room in which Slayton lay. 
And there came a fumbling at the door. With some 
manipulation a key was turned in the protesting 
lock. A slight squeak of hinges, and the door was 
opened. Slayton saw the outline of a burly figure. 

Silently he awaited the enemy’s approach. The 
man stood over him, and drew something from a 
pocket. Anticipating the action, Slayton closed his 
eyes against the flash of an electric lantern. 

“ Don’t play possum,” grunted Fritz. “ I guess 
you’ve come to by this time. I’m too old a hand to 
crack a skull, unless I mean to.” 

He stooped to test the knots at Slayton’s wrists 
and ankles. Seemingly they satisfied him, regard¬ 
less of his captive’s condition. 

“ I guess you’re safe,” he observed. “ And it 
won’t break my heart if you ain’t comfortable. 
Next time you won’t be so anxious to tackle the 
police. Heh?” 

No answer. He brought his light again to bear 
on Slayton’s face, expressionless with its closed 
eyes, and turned away, chuckling. 

“ Pleasant dreams,” he said derisively, as he 
closed the door. But he did not lock it. 

When the man’s retreating footsteps died away 
the house was given over to silence. Silence save 
for those little sounds known to the sleepless. Slay¬ 
ton was cognizant of a rat’s manoeuvre. And he 

209 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


heard the mysterious creaking of a board; the faint 
rustle of a bough so lightly brushing a window- 
pane. 

He heard such sounds in intervals between pain¬ 
ful efforts to free himself. It was not a promising 
prospect. Rather a remote one. But he had un¬ 
usual suppleness of joint. And hours with Hou- 
dini, a contortionist known to the multitude as the 
“ Handcuff King/’ were now to bear good fruit not 
predicted. 

To free the right hand was his initial enterprise. 
Hardly able to stir, he could give it no assistance. 
But with patient endurance he turned the wrist this 
way and that, setting his teeth to endure exquisite 
torture. 

Feeling a slight loosening at last, he redoubled 
his efforts. A last lacerating tug, and the hand 
worked free. Then he rested briefly, while return¬ 
ing blood coursed with vitalizing influence. 

With the right free, release of the left hand was 
soon accomplished. The feet, however, still pre¬ 
sented serious difficulties. Ingenuity had been 
lavished on them in the tying of knots. And his 
eyes offered slight assistance in the heavy darkness. 
But he maintained a somewhat difficult sitting pos¬ 
ture as he worked away. A thrust of the legs, like 
the commencement of a stroke in swimming, soft¬ 
ened the confining cord, rendered thereby more re¬ 
sponsive to his fingers. Its stiffness and moderate 
diameter were factors in his favor. 

210 


AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 


At last lie was free. As lie stretched himself un¬ 
restrained a moonbeam entered, playing on the 
farther wall. By that he knew it must be late. For 
the moon was declining. 

Still, he did not rise at once. Some minutes he 
rested, feeling vigor return. It was the part of 
wisdom. For what was ahead would probably tax 
his utmost energy. 

He moved cautiously. And the bed squeaked as 
he put a foot over the side. Then a board con¬ 
tributed a complementary creak with his first 
step from a strip of carpeting to the bare floor. 
Unlacing them as he stood there, he removed his 
shoes. Two quick, noiseless steps took him to the 
window. 

It was a second-story room. Not over fifteen feet 
to the ground. And a substantial arm of a big elm 
growing at a corner of the house was so near the 
window-sill he might conceivably swing out to it. 
But he only registered this possible mode of escape 
as a commander takes stock of eventualities. 

Now he made quick investigation of his pockets. 
Evidently, his abductors had not cared to rifle his 
person. His keys and small change were un¬ 
touched ; likewise his bill-book. And his watch was 
still running. He held it to his ear, and took an 
observation by moonlight. 

Midnight. It was time to act. Flexed arms and 
legs proving properly responsive, he moved to 
the door. Remembering its audible hinges, he 

211 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

lifted as he turned the knob, and stepped into the 
hall. 

The heavy silence held a menace. There was no 
window on that side where the moon played. He 
waited for a minute or so, hoping to receive some 
information by readjustment of his eyes. But with 
all their straining it was still too dark. 

Feeling for matches, his hand came upon a small 
box of wind tapers. A sure light, and noiseless, 
with greater illuminating power than matches in 
general. But once started, they burned to the end, 
regardless of breath or flipping fingers. There was 
a possible awkward second, if it came to need of 
quick extinguishment. But it would be much more 
awkward to stumble, or go wrong on the head of the 
stairs. Decidedly. 

He struck a taper, quickly shielding it with his 
disengaged hand. As it burned clear he saw the 
room from which he had come was not near the 
head of the stairs. From the floor on which he 
stood they receded into blackness. But he guessed 
the hall was substantially duplicated on the ground 
floor. Probably rooms opening into it on either 
side, and the wide front door directly ahead. He 
would have wagered it was so from what he knew 
of the northeastern states, and old-fashioned coun¬ 
try houses. It was important to have a theory in 
mind. For in a pinch salvation might depend on 
instinctive wisdom. 

So much for the way outdoors. . . . The 

212 


AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 


taper had burned out. He listened briefly for any 
sound of stirring life. The stillness was unbroken. 
He opened the box for another taper. It was 
empty. He had used the only one. 

Mentally reproaching himself for failing to note 
the box held but one light, he turned to the wall 
and began his cautious movement to the left. Foot 
by foot, he felt the way. 

The first door marked by his finger-tips was that 
of the room from which had come the voices of 
Fritz and his mistress in their revealing conversa¬ 
tion. He paused there a moment confirming his 
expectation of silence. 

Another step. And in the instant the light sound 
of rapid movement came to his vigilant ears. With 
clenched hands he crouched in the darkness. The 
sound died almost in the second of his perception. 
And it was not repeated. Probably some rodent’s 
enterprise. 

He stealthily moved on. The second door. And 
the third. He placed his left ear against it. For it 
seemed to him something moved. With such in¬ 
tentness he listened that even an occupant’s light 
breathing must be heard. But he distinguished no 
sound. 

He crept on. The head of the stairs could be only 
a few steps distant. His right foot collided with 
something—probably a chair. Instantly he paused. 
He was aware of someone listening there in the 
darkness. A second of pregnant silence filled by a 
challenging presence. 


213 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


Now Slayton heard a movement of one leaping 
from bed. Next a chair blocking a door was swept 
aside. 

Over the flash of an electric light in his half- 
dazzled eyes he beheld the scowling visage of 
Fritz. 

With perception came the dictate of retreat. He 
had neither light nor weapons. And his first im¬ 
perative need was reestablished connection with 
the outside world. 

“ Ah-h! ” 

His enemy’s guttural exclamation, charging after 
him into the hall, was the only word spoken. Slay¬ 
ton covered him with his eyes, as he backed in the 
direction of the stairs. He saw him shift the 
electric torch from his right hand to the left, and 
reach backward to a hip-pocket. It could mean but 
one thing. 

In a flash Slayton took the initiative. He was 
upon Fritz before the detective could draw his 
revolver. But he still strove for it, as it stuck in 
the holster, throwing up defensively his left arm. 

With a powerful blow Slayton drove the electric 
torch from his fingers. It went out as it struck 
the floor. . . . The two closed there in the dark¬ 
ness. It was Slayton’s purpose to pinion the de¬ 
tective’s right hand, while the latter fought to free 
it. 

Fritz was the heavier; possibly the stronger; and 
certainly less scrupulous. As they swayed to and 

214 


AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 


fro, heads close together and feet far apart, with 
each guarding against being tripped, Slayton felt 
hot breath, and heard the vicious snap of teeth graz¬ 
ing his cheek. He threw his head back instinc¬ 
tively. And as he did so a heel caught in the loos¬ 
ened hall matting. 

It was the moment Fritz selected for a furious 
charge. With Slayton giving ground they crashed 
into the stair railing. It yielded with the sharp 
snap of splintering wood. And they fell together. 

It was too sudden to guard against. And in the 
second or two of their projection through space 
they were almost motionless. Fate, which some 
call chance, brought them down with the detective 
more extended, so that his head struck on a broad 
stair beyond the strip of padded matting that 
marked the centre tread. Slayton’s head landed 
heavily on his enemy’s left shoulder. 

Thus they fell; and did not desist from falling 
until they landed at the foot of the stairs. The 
house had swallowed sounds of their heavy descent 
before either moved. Clear of the shock of concus¬ 
sion, and breathing naturally again, Slayton pushed 
aside Fritz’s arm thrown across his breast. INext 
he cautiously withdrew his left leg, on which a por¬ 
tion of his foe’s body had lain at the end of their 
cascading descent of the stairs. 

His freedom in these movements at once aston¬ 
ished and reassured him. By great good luck he 
had escaped both fracture and sprain. What had 

215 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


happened to Fritz gave him no concern but relief. 
For the moment at least he was harmless. He lay 
as one dead. And when Slayton, who hastened to 
rise for best defense, stooped to possess himself of 
the fought-for revolver, there was still no indication 
of consciousness. 

It was necessary to move the body. As he 
pushed it over on the left side the right hand fell 
with a soft thud on the bare floor. Slayton shiv¬ 
ered; and he stood up with the revolver in his 
hand. 

There w T as no time for cogitation on the detec¬ 
tive’s fate. Somewhere above a door opened, with 
a succeeding brightness in the upper hall. Then 
someone called: 

“ What’s the matter? ” 

An old man’s voice, with a little quaver, despite 
an effort to make it firm. Slayton stood silent, his 
eyes on the stairs. Again he heard the voice above: 

“ Where are you, Fritz? ” 

The man was advancing now to the head of the 
stairs. And preceding him a wavering light Slay¬ 
ton judged to be that of a kerosene lamp. Hesitat¬ 
ing no longer, he turned to the door. 

It was locked with a heavy key that turned easily 
enough. And further fastened with a bar and 
chain. The chain rattled a little as he worked the 
bar, testing which way it would slide. As he 
pushed it up the last barrier to freedom was re¬ 
moved. And none too soon. 

216 


AT THE HEAD OF THE 'BTAIRB 

“ God a-mighty! ” 

Slayton had a glimpse of a gray-haired figure 
standing with a light lifted above its head. An old 
man in his night-clothes, with the appearance of 
spavined age, and tousled hair. 

“What you doin’ here?” he demanded, a bit 
quaveringly, as Slayton opened the door. The 
body of Fritz blocked it, so that he had to step over 
his still inert enemy, and make a sidewise exit. 
Behind him he heard the old man’s voice, now 
charged with horror: 

“ Fritz! What have they done to you, Fritz? ” 

What to do? Slayton stood a moment on the 
piazza, considering surroundings wholly unfamil¬ 
iar. Strengthening light in a square of glass set 
into the door accelerated his decision. A few 
hurried strides to the left gave him shelter behind 
a large tree. 

After minutes seeming to him much longer the 
front door was opened to an extent indicating the 
detective’s body had been moved. And the old 
man advanced a step to the piazza. Lamp in hand, 
he stood peering about. Foolhardy behavior, had 
Slayton been criminally inclined. Seemingly that 
was the impression of someone behind him. Ap¬ 
pearing to take counsel, he hastily retired, and 
closed the door. 

Somewhere in the distance that was New York 
a light flared against the western sky. As if it were 
a signal to him Slayton stepped forth tentatively. 

217 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

Then he stepped back in haste. The gods were 
still taking matters from his hands. 

Its engine so attuned it merely purred in the still 
night air, a car came winding up the driveway, 
heralded by its headlight more than any sound it 
made. A hundred yards or so from the house, and 
some fifty from where Slayton crouched, it came 
to a stop with sudden extinguishment of its lights. 
As it approached under overarching trees he dis¬ 
tinguished only the figures of two men, the driver, 
and a man who sat beside him. 

They now alighted, and stood a moment in in¬ 
audible conversation. With suspicion he cherished, 
Slayton was reminded of Alf and “ Frisky.” But 
he could not be certain. They separated as he 
strained to catch some word of their conversa¬ 
tion. 

While one remained, as if on guard, the shorter 
stooped to scoop up something from the gravelled 
area by the steps, and went on around a corner of 
the house. Slayton heard a sound as of pebbles 
thrown against a window. Twice it was repeated. 

Next the rasping of a window raised, and low- 
toned colloquy. The short man rejoined his com¬ 
panion, and they went up the piazza steps together. 
Presently a light shone through the glass of the 
front door. It was opened, and the recent arrivals 
entered. 

What the gods provide. Hesitation in Slayton’s 
mind was but momentary. Keeping low, he crossed 

218 


AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 

the distance between his tree and the car on the run. 
He stepped in, and reached for the self-starter. 
Under his hand. Everything about the car seemed 
natural. Fortune had provided the duplicate of 
his own latest motor. 

He switched on the lights, to make sure of their 
response, and at once switched them oh again. 
Then he backed to get sufficient room to turn. He 
had made half the circle before the house when the 
front door flew open. Malign chance, for it could 
hardly have been any sound of the perfectly work¬ 
ing car, brought one of its putative owners on the 
scene of departure. 

In the next second Slayton put his foot on the 
accelerator, and switched on more power. And 
his discoverer was no more tardy. There was no 
command to halt. Nor on either side any word 
spoken. 

With the leap of the car, almost grazing an elm 
as he brought it with a sharp turn into the long 
slope to the highway, came the bark of a pistol. 
Slayton heard the song of the bullet, and the im¬ 
pact with a tree. He bent lower over the wheel, 
and concentrated on the task of keeping the car in 
the drive. It was difficult enough without the 
lights he had no time to turn on. 

After the first shot he heard for a few seconds 
the crunch of gravel under sprinting feet. They 
stopped with the second shot, which went wider 
than the first. Then the range was lost in the trees, 

219 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


and his escape became a matter of safe management 
with the car, providing, of course, there was no 
other motor available for pursuit. That seemed so 
improbable it gave him no concern. 

With lessened speed, and the headlights now 
serving him, he discerned the street running at 
right-angles ahead, and swung instinctively to the 
left. Now he let out the car in a silent run to¬ 
ward the dull glow, banked along a wide horizon, 
that marked New York’s night existence in hours 
between hectic gayety and gray dawn. 

A few sleepy marketmen and whistling milk cart 
drivers were abroad. Otherwise the streets were 
deserted as he rode through the countryside, into 
dark suburbs, the squalid fringe of paved districts, 
and better lighted streets where an occasional le¬ 
thargic policeman decorated a corner. 

No one seemed curious concerning his identity or 
errand. It occurred to him that if questioned he 
would not know what name to give. Then he 
drove a little faster. 

Where to? Under the circumstances he had no 
mind to turn in for what remained of the night. 
The day soon to dawn might decide the current of 
Leila’s life and his own. 

To secure Fritz and his companion was more 
than ever important. But how? Would the police 
assist him? With Mr. Kent absent he turned 
naturally to Captain Clifford. Anyway, if his 
enterprise proved very irregular, as seemed prob- 

220 


AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 


able, a knight of casual adventures would be a 
better aide than a man of law. 

Late as it w T as, he kept on to the little park on 
the border of which w^ere the captain’s rooms. 
And unheeding the remonstrance of sleepy birds, 
he vigorously pressed the electric bell. Sooner 
than he anticipated the captain’s head appeared, 
with preliminary sound of an opened window. 

“ Oh, it’s you, is it? ” he said quite casually, as 
Slayton stepped from the vestibule. “ Come on 
up.” 

Clifford was waiting at his door when he reached 
the upper floor. 

“ Well, what’s up? ” he asked, ushering his visitor 

in. 

“ I’ve had a hell of a time-” Slayton began. 

“ It looks like,” observed the captain, craning his 
neck for a better look at traces of the Fifth Avenue 
assault. “ Somebody tried to murder you? ” 

“ I don’t think they were particular,” said Slay¬ 
ton grimly, u one way or the other. I was after 
the black-mustached brute, and the ruby ring. And 
he was still after me. Spryer, too, I’ll admit. 
He’s scored twice on me now. And it’s time for me 
to make a final tally on him.” 

“ A pious sentiment,” the captain admitted 
gently. “ Are you going to let me in on it? ’ 

“ That’s what I’ve come for.” 

The captain lighted a cigarette, and replaced his 
case on Slayton’s gesture of refusal. 

221 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Will it keep till daylight? ” he inquired. 

“ Just about, I think.” 

“ Then sleep is the thing for you now. You 
think you can’t, but you can. You’re nearer all 
in than you know. And a couple of hours’ rest 
will do you a world of good. I know by personal 
experience.” 

“ But if I don’t wake-” 

“ You will wake. I’ll look out for that. And 
Patrick will take your car round to my garage.” 

“ It isn’t my car. I stole it.” 

“Very interesting,” said the captain serenely. 
“ You must tell me about it, after you’ve had a 
nap. ... No more 6 buts,’ please.” 

He had Slayton by the elbow, conducting him to 
the bathroom, where he saturated a sponge, and 
began investigation of the injury over his ear in a 
matter-of-fact way. As he did so he whistled 
softly. 

“ A nasty clout,” he observed presently, and pro¬ 
ceeded to apply a strip of plaster. “ I congratu¬ 
late you on the thickness of your skull. No refer¬ 
ence, of course, to its furnishing.” 

With some little scissors taken from a cabinet he 
trimmed the plaster neatly. 

“ There you are. Now come along in here.” 

“ I’m being a nuisance,” Slayton protested. 

“ Nothing of the sort. I’m suffering for some¬ 
thing to do. And you provide it. The debt is on 
my side. I’m much obliged.” 

222 



AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS 

Amiably coercive, be led Slayton into a small 
adjoining room. 

“ There’s a couch , 77 with a wave of bis band. 
“And here’s a dressing-gown , 77 drawing the gar¬ 
ment from a closet. “ And pajamas. !Now get out 
of your clotbes, and see bow mucb sleep you can 
crowd into about a hundred and twenty minutes . 77 

“ Suppose I fail to wake in time? 77 said Slayton, 
tempted, but still doubtful. 

“Don’t suppose it. I won’t let you. I 7 ve an 
alarm-clock in my bead that never fails . 77 

“ All right, then- 77 

“ Good-bye . 77 

Already the captain was closing the door. 

“ I wonder if I can sleep , 77 Slayton meditated as 
be untied the first shoe. Two or three minutes 
later be again took counsel with himself, as be 
stood before a dresser, one elbow on it, and his bead 
resting on a supporting band. There seemed to be 
a gap in consciousness to bridge over. 

“ Where am I? 77 

His mind lurched back into working order. 

“ Oh, yes. . . . Well, I mustn’t go to sleep 
standing up . 77 

With what speed he could command he com¬ 
pleted a sketchy toilet. Then with inexpressible 
weariness he dropped on the couch, and drew a 
cover over himself. 

His eyelids seemed self-sealed. And noiselessly, 
with increasing speed, a dun-colored cloud came 

223 



IN THE TENTH MOON 

rolling toward him across a wide plain. With 
neither will nor power to avoid it, he awaited its 
sweet suffocation. In sudden acceleration it rolled 
over him. And he knew no more. 


224 


CHAPTER XIII 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 

It was a strange room. And a bare room. But 
not the bareness of that cell Leila visualized with 
a shudder, as memory threw a slide upon the screen 
of her newly awakened mind. 

She was in the midst of a large, old-fashioned 
bed. All the room contained, save a pine bureau, 
with its pitcher and wash-bowl of thick white ware, 
and a straight-back chair crudely painted brown. 

On the chair her clothes were piled. Sight of 
them was a stimulus to memory. She recalled rid¬ 
ing in the park, her wandering on Scipio through 
the countryside. Then pausing at crossroads for 
an agreeable view. That was all. 

What had happened? Where was she? 

She had no pain. Only slight giddiness, as she 
stirred in bed. She raised her right hand, cased 
to the wrist in a cambric nightgown severely plain, 
and tested properly responsive fingers. 

Xow she remembered a sudden blast of raucous 
sound, and a succeeding second, if indeed it was so 
long, of terrifying uncertainty. She was being 
thrown. Evidently, she had been hurt, and taken 
somewhere. 

Somewhere in the country. Through the room’s 

225 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


single window, with a roller curtain pulled part¬ 
way down, she could see a sweep of sky, and tree- 
tops in the distance. 

At that stage a human element was injected into 
the situation. With no knock, or any word of an¬ 
nouncement, the door opened to admit a woman in 
nurse’s uniform. A young woman rather heavy 
and dark, with a great abundance of jet-black hair 
revealed by her lack of a cap, and a rich red flaming 
over her cheek-bones. 

Crossing to the bed in a businesslike way, she 
took Leila’s wrist between her forefinger and 
thumb. Judging by the brevity of investigation, 
it was a satisfactory pulse. 

“ How do you feel this morning? ” she asked. 

“A little shaky. But not so badly,” Leila re¬ 
plied. “ Only I don’t understand about things. 
What happened? ” 

“ There was an accident.” 

The woman’s tone was curtly impersonal, as she 
busied herself in pouring water from the pitcher 
into the basin. 

“ Hid you come here with me? ” 

“ I was sent for.” 

Sponge and towel in hand, the taciturn stranger 
approached the bed. Leila stopped her with a ges¬ 
ture. 

“ Ho, thank you. I need no help in bathing my 
face. . . . But tell me, please, where I am.” 

“ It’s just country. Out in the Bronx.” 

226 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


“ Can I telephone? ” 

“ I don’t know if there is a telephone in the house. 
It’s just an old farmhouse.” 

“ Will you find out? ” Leila persisted. 

She was disturbed by the woman’s manner; by 
what seemed studied unresponsiveness. The more 
astonishing, therefore, a counter-question: 

“ Would you like to go home this morning? ” 

“Very much,” said Leila promptly. “If the 
doctor will let me.” 

“ He isn’t here now. But he left word he didn’t 
think it would do you any harm. Not if you felt 
like it.” 

“ Very much.” 

Now remembrance of the message about George 
returned to energize Leila. It had been—how long 
had it been since she received the message about his 
injury? 

“ When was I brought here? ” she asked. 

“ Yesterday.” 

Only twenty-four hours’ delay. But she must 
notify Mr. Kent at once. When she next spoke she 
was unconsciously imperious. 

“ Will you find out about the telephone, please. 
And, if I can’t send for my own car, what you can 
do about getting me back to town.” 

“ You can see how you feel when you get up,” 
was the woman’s only acknowledgment, as she 
moved to the door. 

Left to herself, Leila gingerly put one foot out of 

227 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


bed; then the other. And she stood in the middle 
of the floor, steady enough and clear of head. 

“ I am lucky,” she thought, as she bent in her 
toilet over the bureau, dismissing the merest sug¬ 
gestion of vertigo. She was hardly dressed when 
her unknown attendant returned, bearing a tray. 

“ I see you’re up,” she commented. “ Here’s a 
little breakfast. I guess coffee and toast is all you 
ought to have, after the knock you got yesterday.” 

“ It’s enough, thank you. And how about get¬ 
ting home? ” 

The woman’s, attitude became defensive. 

“ They say there’s no telephone. But if you 
want, you can go just the same.” 

“ Of course I do. But how? ” 

“ There’s a taxi in the back yard. The son of the 
old man that lives here came out in it to see him 
this morning. He’s going back pretty soon. And 
he says you can go along, too, if you don’t mind 
riding with strangers.” 

“ Tell him I am grateful for the offer,” Leila 
promptly said. “And I’ll be ready any time he 
wants to go.” 

• “ All right.” 

With the same grudging manner, and without a 
backward look, the woman departed, carefully 
closing the door. 

Wondering a little, Leila took her tray into the 
sunlight, and began to eat. When she had finished 
she sat looking at the landscape,—speculating a 

228 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


little about her surroundings, and more about 
George. Her own situation she resolutely ex¬ 
cluded. It would come again at night. But she 
was mistress of her mind by day. 

Meditation was brief. 

“ Are you ready now? ” 

Her intermediary with the world had entered 
unperceived, and stood almost at her elbow. 

“ Surely.” 

As Leila rose she noted the woman now wore a 
raglan coat over her uniform, and a nurse’s cap 
missing before. 

“ Are you going with me? ” she asked. 

“ The doctor thought I’d better.” 

As she followed the few yards to the head of the 
stairs, and down the broad flight to the front door, 
Leila heard what seemed a familiar sound. Com¬ 
ing from behind closed doors, it was repeated. 

“ What’s that? ” she asked. 

“ I don’t hear anything.” 

It was much like the reiterated call of a tele¬ 
phone bell. But Leila’s guide did not stop to listen. 
She led the way outdoors, and by a path round the 
corner of the house, to where a cab stood under a 
great elm tree. 

A taxi of the familiar black and white com¬ 
plexion. And the usual attitude of a chauffeur at 
ease, slouching at the wheel. As they approached 
a man came from a side door of the house, with a 
backward salutation to someone within, and 

229 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


walked toward them. At the last moment he re¬ 
moved his black slouch hat, with an awkward bow. 

“Seeing’s there's nobody to introduce me," he 
said, “ I’ll have to do it myself." 

“But I already know you. Your name is 
Smith." 

“ Brown, Ma’am," he corrected her. 

Leila supplemented her first impression of rec¬ 
ognition with an appraising glance. 

“ But you’re the man who came to tell me of Mr. 
Slayton’s accident." 

He shook his head. 

“ I don’t like to dispute a lady. But you must 
be thinking of another man." 

Still she was doubtful. 

“ I don’t suppose you have a twin brother? ’’ she 
suggested. 

“ No," he replied, and added: “ If I did have 
one, his name would be 6 Brown,’ too." 

“ Of course." She was a little vexed with the 
outcome of her persistence. “Are we ready to 
go?" 

For answer he opened the door of the taxi. With¬ 
out further comment she stepped in; and after her 
the woman mysteriously materialized as her at¬ 
tendant. Looking somewhat doubtful, the man 
reached in to turn down a short folding seat. 

“ Please don’t," said Leila quickly. “ You’ll 
find that too uncomfortable in a long ride. And 
there’s really room enough here." 

230 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


a Thank yon, Ma’am.” 

He addressed some remark sotto voce to the 
chauffeur, and wedged himself in beside the 
nurse on the farther side. The engine coughed, 
sputtered, and swung into a steady song. They 
were under way. 

“ But I haven’t given you my address,” said 
Leila, with a sudden thought of omission. 

“ He knows it.” 

Her escort vouchsafed no further explanation. 
And Leila wondered more. Who were these people 
so strangely projected into her life? A nurse and 
a man who offered no clue save the justified as¬ 
sumption that socially he belonged to the lower 
order. 

If they were friends, acquaintances even, they 
gave no sign. The woman seemed to concentrate 
on the back of the chauffeur’s head. With his cap 
pulled down over his eyes the man looked straight 
ahead. Neither spoke. 

The miles ticked off without much change in 
sketchily perceived landscape. That the stretch 
of indubitable countryside was surprisingly pro¬ 
longed came to Leila with the other impression that 
they were running with needless speed. Pursuing 
his ball into the highway from an intersecting lane, 
a boy escaped death under their wheels by the 
merest hair’s breadth. A second of sickening 
apprehension, and the little figure was far be¬ 
hind. 


231 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

Leila leaned toward the man to dominate with 
her voice the rattling of the cab. 

“ Don’t you think the driver is reckless? ” 

“ I guess he knows his business.” 

His tone was surly, and his manner no less rude. 
She half-opened her mouth to remonstrate with the 
man at the wheel; then reconsidered and sat back, 
amazed and indignant. It seemed to her the taxi 
picked up speed. With an especially violent lurch 
the nurse leaned forward to steady herself by a 
hand on the rod for wraps. 

Falling upon that hand, Leila’s gaze was held 
fascinated. On the fourth finger was a ruby ring. 
A ruby set with diamonds. And near its base a 
black speck. She saw it with that sense of owner¬ 
ship born of long possession. Yet she was half- 
incredulous. 

As she gazed, dumb with astonishment, some¬ 
thing drew the man’s attention, breaking his im¬ 
passive mood. Dull red mounted his face. With 
a certain deliberation he leaned forward to hurl his 
words into the nurse’s ear: 

“ You damned fool! ” 

Hoarseness of voice emphasized his words. The 
woman did not shrink from his attack. She gave 
him glance for glance. And her voice raised in 
defiance had a metallic ring. 

“ Who are you speaking to? ” she demanded. 

“ You-” 


232 



DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


He seemed about to add an epithet, but choked 
it back, and growled: 

“ I told you to put it away.” 

“ I have a right to w T ear my presents.” 

Another exchange of belligerent glances. As 
the man settled back he added something in a 
lower tone. Leila did not understand all, but 
thought his observation ended with,—“ in the pickle 
now.” 

With ostentatious deliberation the woman drew 
her hand back from the rod, and put it in a coat 
pocket. Nothing further was said, as they raced 
through a region that seemed to grow more rural, 
without any sign of approach to the city, or even a 
town. 

Suspicion of her companions, and fear in her sit¬ 
uation, grew in Leila’s brain. Suspense seemed 
unendurable. As she leaned to the right the 
woman presumably a nurse drew back, offering no 
obstacle as she gripped the man’s arm. He turned 
upon her his silent regard. 

u Well? ” he seemed to say. 

“ I do not believe you told me the truth,” she as¬ 
serted. 

“ Think what you like,” he answered. 

“ Stop the cab.” 

“ What for? ” 

His face unpleasantly expressed amusement. 

“ Let me out,” she commanded. 

As he made no move, she leaned forward to 

233 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

signal the driver. He caught her arm, forcing it 
back to her side. 

“ Now sit still,” he said roughly. 

While panic possessed her, she maintained a firm 
front. Her voice was still steady as she demanded: 

“ What do you want? ” 

“ You.” 

His lips parted in a fierce grin. 

“ Where are you taking me? ” 

Still the evil smile. . . . Desperate, Leila 

struck suddenly to break the glass at the chauffeur’s 
back. That time the woman caught her with a 
strong grip. 

An instant of struggling, and Leila settled back. 
The enemy was too powerful. Penned in, she took 
counsel with herself. 

She had stepped into a trap. But what was it? 
It was so blind. 

Of one thing she was certain. She no longer 
doubted her identification of the man as the one 
sent, he alleged, with a message from George. 
Now she disbelieved it utterly. 

Perhaps George was also a captive. With what 
motive? 

Inevitably her mind, probing feverishly for some 
clue, swung back to the dreadful charge that, 
though a verdict was set aside, still stood against 
her. What could anyone gain by her abduction? 
If her captors had a hand in the murder of Frank 
Slayton, why spirit away one already indicted for 

234 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


the crime? More persistent than any private search 
for her would be the seeking hand of the law. 

And the ring she felt was surely hers. How had 
it come to the woman beside her? And she had 
dared to wear it in her presence. One perplexity 
upon another. She gave it up. 

They were still proceeding rapidly, but at less 
hazardous speed. Far ahead in a straight stretch 
Leila saw a limousine approaching. And a second 
later she noted that violent jolting of the taxi had 
caused a window to drop slightly. 

As the other car came opposite, pulling out a 
little to pass, she screamed with all her might. A 
second later came the chauffeur’s violent applica¬ 
tion of more power, and a smothering hand roughly 
stopping her mouth. 

“ None of that,” the man growled. 

She could not tell if her cry was heard in the 
limousine. At any rate there was no saving pur¬ 
suit. 

Presently the man dropped his gagging hand. 
With her handkerchief she furiously sought to 
cleanse her lips from his soiling touch. 

“ You will be punished for this,” she said. 

“Ill take care of that. You’d better be good. 
Or-” 

The rest was ominously left to her imagination. 
No other word was spoken. 

She could only conjecture how long they had 
ridden when the chauffeur, unprompted from be- 

235 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


hind, turned into a driveway flanked at its entrance 
with tall granite posts surmounted by metal lamps. 
As they came through Leila saw the sections of a 
heavy gate swung back. 

Straight on they went, bisecting a grassy ex¬ 
panse sprinkled with trees. At the farther end of 
the lawn stood a gray stone house, a house of 
imposing proportions, with a wide doorway and 
portico. 

In late autumn seldom a country habitation de¬ 
lights the eye. But in summer, when grass was 
green, and many birds made music in the trees, it 
must have been a pleasant spot. In that moment 
picturesqueness had no place in Leila’s mind. She 
was braced for the next step against her. 

Wheeling up to the steps, the driver shut off 
power. And the black-mustached man promptly 
alighted. 

“ Come,” he said imperatively to Leila. And re¬ 
peated his warning: “ You’d better be good.” 

She made no answer as she stood beside him. 
Last alighted the supposed nurse, still wearing the 
ruby ring. They went up the steps, a strange trio. 
A silver plate beside the door-bell drew Leila’s at¬ 
tention. She read its engraving: 

“ The Skurling Sanitorium.” 

A new thought broke her resolution of silence. 

“ What do you mean to do? ” 

No answer. He rang the bell. And in a few 
seconds he impatiently rang again. Presently the 

236 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


door was opened, and a broad-faced colored man 
looked out. 

“ I want to see Doctor Maury,” the chief con¬ 
spirator said imperatively. 

“ Doctor’s very busy now,” explained the negro. 

But he opened the door without further ado. 
And Leila felt herself urged from behind. The 
door closed with a click. As they stood a moment 
in the hall Leila noted the broad black walnut ban¬ 
nisters and the black man’s shining face. 

“ This way, Missy.” 

He addressed Leila, with the negro’s instinct for 
quality, showing his lustrous teeth in a wide smile. 
Down the hall on the left he pulled back portieres, 
and stood aside for them to enter. 

As he disappeared Leila felt the removal of a 
cheering influence. Certainly, there was nothing 
to buoy one in her immediate surroundings. The 
room in which she sat was appropriate to dark 
deeds. Heavy hangings at its several windows 
admitted little light. And its sombre furnish¬ 
ings gave out that slightly musty odor con¬ 
comitant with too much shade and too little fresh 
air. 

No word was addressed to Leila by her captors, 
who sat together across the room, together, but 
not on amiable terms. The woman kept a sullen 
silence, refusing response to the man’s attempts 
at whispered conversation. What he was saying 
Leila could not hear. But it seemed obvious 

237 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


enough that her commitment to this place, a sana¬ 
torium, was proposed. 

Watching the three, a man of curious appearance 
stood behind the portieres between room and hall. 
He was tall and slight; of sallow complexion, with 
deep-set eyes, and cheek-bones threatening to burst 
the skin. Two perpendicular wrinkles marked the 
upper terminal of a long, slightly hooked nose. 
There was something feline in his pose; and his gait 
emphasized the suggestion, as he noiselessly ad¬ 
vanced into the room. 

“ You wish to see Doctor Maury? ” he said in a 
soft, rather colorless voice. 

Three pairs of eyes turned toward him. And 
the black-mustached man rose with alacrity. 

“ Yes,” he answered. “ We have a patient.” 

“ Yours? ” 

While the doctor’s manner was courteous, his 
tone held a doubt. Leila’s captor countered with 
another question: 

“ Didn’t Doctor Blake telephone? ” 

“ Someone giving that name did,” the superin¬ 
tendent of the sanitorinm assented. 

“ Well, he sent me with the woman.” 

Feeling his way thus far, the man spoke now 
with assurance, though fidgeting a bit under the 
doctor’s searching look, as he put another ques¬ 
tion : 

“ May I ask who you are? ” 

“ Fritz Colahan, plain-clothes man.” 

238 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 

As lie swept back bis coat lapel a badge appeared 
in confirmation of bis claim. 

“ Does tbe patient come willingly? ” 

“ I do not,” Leila answered decisively. 

As sbe broke in tbe doctor turned with a cu¬ 
rious arching of bis brows. But be said nothing. 
Again be addressed tbe man calling himself Cola- 
ban. 

“ I suppose you have tbe commitment papers? ” 

“ Doctor Blake is getting them.” 

“ Is that it? ” 

Tbe superintendent turned bis back, and gazed 
at something outside a window. 

“Without papers,” be said, “I can’t keep tbe 
woman against her will.” 

“ It’s an emergency case,” the detective persisted. 

“ Just bow? ” 

“ Let me see you outside.” 

“Very well,” tbe doctor assented, with momen¬ 
tary hesitation. “ Come into the ball.” 

They conversed in low tones Leila strained to 
bear. With some of it missed sbe still overheard 
enough to reconstruct her abductor’s story. Sbe 
was presented as a woman in New York alone; 
one from a southern state, and suffering with a de¬ 
lusion that might yield to treatment in absolute 
seclusion. It was only proposed to confine her in 
New York pending arrival of relatives from her 
distant home. Her family were very rich, and 
would doubtless pay anything within reason. 

239 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

Seemingly, this last assurance turned the scale of 
argument. 

“ It’s very irregular,” she heard the doctor say 
at length. “But I suppose it is all right. I’ll 
make an exception.” 

On their reentry the medical man looked at 
Leila with strictly professional eyes. 

“ I trust you’ll be very comfortable here, Mrs. 
Chase,” he said suavely. 

“ My name is Slayton.” 

Leila rose to give battle for liberty. 

“ Ah, yes.” 

The doctor’s eyes narrowed in appraisal. 

“ Mrs. Frank Slayton.” 

“ Yes, indeed.” 

“ And if you will listen to reason,” she declared 
with undaunted spirit, “ I shall not stay here at 
all.” 

“ Please be calm, my dear lady.” 

He sought to lay a soothing hand on her arm. 
She shook it off impatiently. 

“ Let me telephone to my lawyer,” she urged. 
“ He will confirm what I tell you. These people 
have brought me here under false pretenses, and 
against my will.” 

“ I forgot to say,” the man Colahan interjected, 
“ that Doctor Blake particularly mentioned she was 
not to be allowed near a telephone. She has both¬ 
ered a lot of people about the Slayton case. Just 
went dippy, you know, over it.” 

240 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


The doctor looked wise. 

“Won’t you give me a chance?” Leila pleaded. 
“ I don’t ask you to take my word against theirs.” 
Her look at the detective and his accomplice was 
charged with scorn. “ I only ask you to confirm 
what I say. A serious wrong is being committed. 
And you may save me from it, if you will send just 
one call.” 

The doctor smiled. 

“ I think you will like us,” he said in Ms silky 
way, “ when you know us better.” 

She turned away in frigid silence. And her 
heart was desolate. After months of confinement 
on a terrible charge, had she secured release only 
to suffer imprisonment in a lunatic asylum? And 
the image of Slayton came sharply before her. Was 
he also victim to these conspirators? She had 
meant to institute measures for his relief. Now 
she felt sure they were both caught in tentacles of 
a criminal enterprise she could not fathom. 

Doctor Maury addressed her captors. 

“ Is special attendance desired? ” 

“ I brought this attendant,” the detective quickly 
replied with a jerk of his thumb toward the dark 
woman. “ Doctor Blake wants her to stay.” 

“ Ah, yes. Miss-? ” 

“ Shapiro,” she said. 

“ You want connecting rooms, I suppose,” the 
doctor observed. u Please wait a few minutes 
while I arrange for them.” 

241 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


He passed from the room with his stealthy tread. 
Silence reigned after him. Leila felt stunned. 
And, despite their success, the cause of their alter¬ 
cation on the way to the sanitorium still poisoned 
mutual feeling of the guilty pair. 

Presently there was a slight scuffling in the hall. 
And past the door came a little white-haired man 
from somewhere in the rear of the house. Evi¬ 
dently unwilling, he was partly propelled by the 
muscular arm of an escorting attendant. 

“ I don’t want to go now,” he jjrotested. 

“ That’s all right, Mr. Brill.” The attendant 
still urged him onward. “ I’ll help you.” 

They passed to diminishing murmurs of expostu¬ 
lation and persuasion. Then Leila heard what 
seemed to be a distant fall, and a little cry of 
pain. Shaken, she turned to the man in a last 
effort. 

“ Now that you have me here, tell me why you 
brought me.” 

“ You’ll find out in season,” he replied with his 
natural overbearing manner. “ That is, if you be¬ 
have yourself.” 

“ I know the ring.” 

Leila trembled inwardly as she made the asser¬ 
tion. 

“ A lot of good it’ll do you.” 

His malevolent glance upon her, he leaned for¬ 
ward suddenly, as if prepared to spring. His voice 
was rasping now: 


242 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


“ If you know what’s good for you, you’ll for¬ 
get it.” 

Leila met his threatening glance calmly. Their 
duel of eyes was interrupted by a white-capped 
attendant. 

“ Doctor Blake’s patient? ” she said inquiringly. 

“Here,” said Colahan, indicating Leila. “And 
this is her nurse.” 

The hospital employee looked at the Shapiro 
woman somewhat disdainfully, the look of the 
established for an intruder. Then she turned to 
Leila. 

“ This way, please.” 

“ I guess I’ll go along,” Colahan remarked 
casually. “ Just to see how she is taken care of.” 

The sanitorium attendant looked doubtful. With 
seeming carelessness he revealed his detective’s 
shield. 

“ All right,” she said, and took the lead. 

Leila came next, her captors evidently proposing 
to guard the rear. With relief she saw the attend¬ 
ant stop before a door on the second floor, and not 
far from the head of the stairs. Hope prospered 
better in close proximity to the ground. 

“ Here,” the attendant said, and entered. “And 
there,” she added, advancing to open a door dis¬ 
closing a connecting room. “ Shall I have the bag¬ 
gage sent up? ” 

The detective was for the moment nonplussed. 
But quick wit came to his aid. 

243 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Haven’t got any,” he explained. “ No time to 
get it ready. An emergency case, you know.’* 

“ I see.” 

Looking at Leila, the nurse seemed somewhat 
astonished. 

“ Well, we can furnish little things needed for a 
day or two. ... If you want any help, just 
press this button.” 

The Shapiro woman received her closing remark. 
As the rustle of her starched skirt died away in 
the hall, Colahan and his feminine follower looked 
at each other. Then they looked at Leila. A 
thought of immediate danger flashed through her 
mind. But they sought at that time only oppor¬ 
tunity for conference. 

With a turn of her head toward the open door 
behind her, the woman said,—“ In there.” 

Colahan stepped to the hall door, closed and 
locked it, and put the key in his pocket. 

“ There,” he observed, “ I guess she’s safe for a 
while.” 

Following the woman into the connecting room, 
he closed the door behind them. 

Leila took stock of her temporary prison. A 
pleasant enough room, if one could banish thought 
of restraint. Two windows gave on a driveway 
winding up to the house, and the far-stretched 
meadows beyond. 

Then she noted the wire mesh outside each win¬ 
dow. Though light, it was strong, and securely 

244 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


fastened to the window casing. To unsuspicious 
eyes it might have seemed only a fly screen. There 
was no further suggestion of imprisonment. 

A bed of dull brass was dressed with pink. And 
the same shade prevailed in covers of a mahogany 
bureau. A few chairs of indifferent excellence, and 
three or four fair prints on the wall. Even an en¬ 
graving of Litchfield cathedral. A general sug¬ 
gestion of the guest-room in some comfortable su¬ 
burban home. 

With her immediate surroundings fixed in mind, 
Leila brushed away a fugitive tear, and turned 
resolutely to the present. Of physical injury, ap¬ 
parently, she need have no fear. Designs against 
her stopped with restraint. But there was more 
than abduction afoot in the major scheme. What 
was it? And did it involve Slayton? If he, like 
herself, was held a prisoner, he might be in des¬ 
perate need of aid. 

Her thoughts returned to the telephone. Two lit¬ 
tle minutes on the wire, and forces for relief would 
be set in motion. There must be a way to manage 
it, if she were vigilant. 

Bising, she moved restlessly about the room. 
One of the bureau drawers was a little open. She 
pulled it out, and saw it was empty. Likewise the 
others, opened to the last one. 

Two doors, one in a corner near the bed, and the 
other two yards or so from the window, next en¬ 
gaged her attention. But she did not immediately 

245 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


investigate what lay behind them. For she sensed 
rather than heard her captors’ return. Crossing 
the room quickly, she stood gazing at the landscape, 
and did not move as they entered. But she was 
keenly conscious of their presence, standing just 
behind her. 

“Well,” said the man, “I guess I’ll be going 
now.” 

As Leila did not turn, he addressed her back in 
a rather conciliatory fashion. 

“ I’m sorry—Ma’am, we had to do this.” 

“ I trust I shall be sorry for you, when you are 
punished for it,” she replied. 

“ You needn’t worry about that,” he snapped 
back in his usual rough fashion. “ Well, good-bye, 
Rose.” 

“ Good-bye, Fritz.” 

The door closed behind him. After a minute or 
so of heavy silence the unwelcome attendant spoke: 

“ I hope we’ll get along together.” 

“ What have I to do with it? ” 

“ A lot.” 

The friendly inflection caused Leila to turn. It 
was not a mean face that she saw. Rather one of 
strong impulses undisciplined. Just then its 
expression was half-apologetic. And so her lan¬ 
guage. 

“ I don’t know what you’re here for. But it’s 
my job to watch you. You mustn’t telephone. And 
you can’t go out. Anything else you can do, if you 

246 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


want. You make it easy for me, and Til try to 
make it easy for you.” 

If not dark indeed, the woman’s sins would be 
amply punished in the companionship of Fritz. 
Leila felt pity for her in a vision of the years ahead. 
Then came momentary impulse to appeal to her 
better nature. Dismissed almost as soon as enter¬ 
tained. The detective’s grip on her was too strong. 
Later, perhaps, a way to reach her would offer. 

“ I don’t mean to stay. But we needn’t quarrel.” 

Anger and pride were banished from Leila’s 
voice. And the woman disposed to cushion her 
captivity responded. 

“ Call me Rose, please? And if you want me, I’ll 
be in the next room. I’m going to leave you alone 
a while now.” 

With a rather apologetic air she locked the door 
opening on the hall, and dropped the key inside 
her waist. Then she retired to the connecting 
chamber. 

For a minute or two Leila kept the post by the 
window, half-expecting her return. But there was 
neither sight nor sound of her. Emboldened, Leila 
moved swiftly to the nearer of the previously noted 
doors. 

It was only the door to a closet for the hanging 
of garments. Before the second door she paused, 
hopeful but half-dreading. She pushed it back 
slowly, and saw a little bathroom. Nothing help¬ 
ful in her predicament was revealed to the eye. 

247 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


Well, one might at least bathe. As she removed 
traces of the morning's wild journey her mind w r as 
busy, seeking a way out. Of course there were tele¬ 
phones in the house. There must be an office on 
the floor below. With luck she might find it, if she 
could get out of her room. 

To take the key by force was out of the question. 
Deep-chested and strong-armed, Rose was obviously 
superior in strength. 

In stories a note dropped from a window usually 
brought help. But how could one drop a note 
through a steel screen? And even if it were pos¬ 
sible to do so, a note tossed from a window of the 
Skurling Sanitarium would probably be picked up 
by an attendant, and turned over to Doctor Maury. 
The house stood alone, and so far back from the 
road that chance of any communication with pass¬ 
ers-by was infinitesimal. . . . Hope lay in 
chance—and the telephone. 

With nothing to do but wait, the stern discipline 
of months in prison came to her aid. “ I will be 
calm,” she said, and sent her thoughts,—though not 
without flashes of painful remembrance, back to 
days before the Slaytons came to so twdst her life. 
Peaceful days. Would it ever be so again? 

Taking its departure, the sun leisurely trans¬ 
figured low T and distant hills. They seemed paved 
with gold. And two gnarled trees in the foreground 
were so entwined that they suggested a charging 
knight in armor. 


248 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


Leila did not hear a door open softly. The voice 
of Rose pierced her introspection. 

“ Is there anything I can do for you, Ma’am? ” 

“ Only let me out.” 

The girl’s look of distress led Leila to add: 

“ You don’t want to get into trouble, do you, 
Rose? ” 

Fear of Fritz seemed still uppermost in Rose’s 
mind. 

“ I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” was all 
she said. 

“ I shall be quite all right.” 

Leila abandoned the overture. With a doubtful 
look Rose retired again. Twilight came on apace. 
And Leila switched on a reading lamp. The soli¬ 
tary volume on the table intrigued her. A much- 
thumbed copy of Emerson’s u Essays.” It opened 
to the underlined saying: “ There is a crack in 
everything God has made.” Some poor soul in 
troubled waters had found comfort in compar¬ 
ison. 

Now it was dark. Still Leila read on, until she 
heard the sound of an opened door in the next room, 
and low-toned conversation between Rose and some 
woman entering from the hall. 

“ Here’s your patient’s supper,” the stranger 
said. u Is she going to the party? ” 

“ What party? ” 

Rose was manifestly surprised. 

“ Why, the house party. Regular thing, the first 

249 


IN TEE TENTH MOON 


of each month. Most of the patients go. Yours 
ain’t violent, is she? ” 

“No,” said Eose, defensively adding, “We’ve 
just come.” 

“ Well, it may be a long time before you go,” her 
informant observed cheerfully. “ And believe me, 
when you’ve been here as long as I have, you’ll 
jump at the chance of a little fun.” 

The door closed after her. And presently Eose 
brought in supper. No mention of a party. 

With a sharp need of food, after twenty-four 
hours almost bare of sustenance, Leila turned to 
typical hospital fare. The tea and prunes, the 
custard, and bread-and-butter, with a little fish. 

In the midst of the repast came a soft knock at 
the door. And Doctor Maury glided in, with a 
deferential, “ Good-evening.” 

“ I trust we are making you comfortable,” he 
pursued. 

He renewed with Leila the impression of some¬ 
thing inhumanly remote. 

“ It’s not a bad prison,” she said coldly. “ When 
are you going to let me telephone, or do so your¬ 
self, to verify my statement that I was brought here 
by fraud? And that my name is Leila Slayton? ” 

He bowed deprecatingly. 

“ I wonder, if you are not too tired, whether you 
would care to meet some of my—guests this even¬ 
ing.” 

She looked at him inquiringly. 

250 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


“We have a regular monthly gathering,” he went 
on to explain. “ I think you would enjoy it. Most 
of them do. . . . You’d find them nice people. 
Ladies and gentlemen—you know.” 

This was better than she had hoped. But still 
she fenced. 

“ I have nothing to wear.” 

“ Your trunks haven’t come? That really doesn’t 
matter. Your riding habit will do.” In his secre¬ 
tive eyes she detected a gleam of amusement. 
“ Some of the others,” he finished, “ will be in cos¬ 
tume.” 

“ I might go for a while. You may imagine this 
is not amusing to me.” She appeared to weigh the 
suggestion. “ I suppose one is properly protected.” 

Of a sudden his eyes opened wide, like those of 
a cat. It seemed he sought access to something in 
her mind. 

“ You need have no fear,” he said. 

“ Very well, then. I will go.” 

He received her assent with a bow. 

“About eight o’clock I shall count on seeing 
you.” 

She heard him give brief instruction in the next 
room. 

“ Your patient will attend the gathering in the 
second floor parlors to-night.” 

“ But-” Rose began. 

“ But what? ” 

He spoke sharply. 


251 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ I have orders to keep her in her room.” 

“ I am the only one to give orders here.” 

]STo answer. Rose was silenced, if not convinced. 

“ You will be relieved from duty,” he continued, 
u between eight and ten o’clock. Ten o’clock sharp. 
Do vou understand? ” 

“ Yes, Doctor,” said Rose meekly. 

When she entered immediately after, Leila saw 
signs of perturbation. But she was conquered. 
Presently she broke the news abruptly: 

“ The doctor says you will go to the party to¬ 
night, Ma’am.” 

“ Yes, he mentioned it to me.” 

Leila’s manner was casual, as she added: 

“ I’ll not need you afterward, if you have some¬ 
thing pleasant to do.” 

“ Yes, Ma’am.” 

Rose’s voice was pacific. But her hand sought 
the kev in her bosom. 

“ I don’t think,” she said, “ I’ll be doing anything 
particular.” 

With this observation she departed, and stead¬ 
fastly kept her place in the other room. Leila read 
on with Emerson. But his philosophy found scant 
lodgment. Her watch registered seven o’clock. 
And seven-thirty. While her pulse quickened, time 
seemed to go more slowly. 

On the stroke of eight came a light knock at the 
door. It was repeated, and the knob turned. Then 
slowly, and with a certain ceremoniousness, the 

252 


DOCTOR MAURY TAKES A HAND 


door was opened. Doctor Maury stood there, look¬ 
ing Oriental in evening dress. 

“ At your service,” he said. 

Leila saw the face of Rose, a picture of uncer¬ 
tainty, peering from behind a slightly opened door, 
as, taking the doctor’s arm, she stepped into the 
hall. 

At that moment two men passed on their way to 
the stairs. Elderly men arm-in-arm. Short and 
white-bearded, one was attired in golfing clothes. 
His companion was tall and thin, with a long 
drooping mustache. And his spare bow-legs ap¬ 
peared in the knee-breeches of court dress. 

“ Is Napoleon coming to-night? ” asked the 
stubby one. 

“Yes,” the tall man assured him. “And Jose¬ 
phine.” 

“ Marie Louise is coming, too. Won’t that be 
capital? ” 

“ c Capital ! 9 Right.” 

Whereat the tall man slapped his companion on 
the shoulder. And as they descended the stairs, 
arm-in-arm, a cackle of thin laughter eddied 
through the hall. 


253 


CHAPTER XIV 


SKURLING REVEALED 

When one hunts a murderer it is worse than 
embarrassing to wonder if he himself is involved 
in homicide. With that thought pressing upon him 
Slayton gained but broken sleep. Bad dreams 
came. He saw Fritz dead, and himself at the bar, 
a defendant. He stood alone in a skeptical world. 
For some mysterious reason Leila had deserted him. 

But sound slumber came when he had abandoned 
hope of it. Xext time he woke the sun was quite 
high. Appreciation of that fact immediately pre¬ 
ceded sight of a morning paper folded beside him. 
With the instant thought he reached for it, and 
turned its pages with feverish interest. 

The usual assortment of assaults, burglaries, and 
homicides, crimes in general. But no word of that 
midnight encounter from which he had departed in 
blind haste, fearing the worst. 

One first-page head arrested his attention: 

District Attorney 
Will Retry the 
Slayton Case Soon 

Though he could not reach it on the calendar be¬ 
fore election day, the political-minded prosecutor 

254 


SKURLING REVEALED 


meant to make capital with the case before the 
voters’ mob. That was evident in the poisonous 
insinuation of an interview, with his intimation of 
powerful interests working on behalf of Leila. 
. . . And one who should occupy her place in 

the dock,—either Fritz himself, or someone reach¬ 
able through him, was about to flee the country. 

He had wasted hours with oversleeping, when 
there was not a minute to spare. Mentally he re¬ 
proached the captain. But an incarnation of 
serenity saluted his eyes at the end of a hasty toilet. 
The captain sat in a purple dressing-gown, like a 
prelate robed. If he had any occupation but smok¬ 
ing, it was not suggested. 

“ You promised to call me-” began Slayton 

half-resentfully. “ And didn’t do it.” 

The captain raised a mildly restraining hand. 

“ On second thought,” he said, “ I decided not to. 
You were too near the end of your rope. And evi¬ 
dently there’s stern business afoot. Now a good 
rest has fitted you to cope with it.” 

“ No doubt your intention was good. But I’ll be 
lucky if it isn’t too late. And if that happens-” 

Slayton paused nervously. 

“ You’ll never forgive yourself,” the captain con¬ 
tinued. “ And particularly won’t forgive me. But 
I’ve a wager with myself—I won’t tell it to you 
now,—that we’re still in season for wfliat’s to be 
done. I take it for granted your man didn’t get 
away unscratched.” 


255 





IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ I fear I killed him.” 

“ Probably you didn’t. But I’m delighted to hear 
he isn’t spryly eluding us.” 

The captain lighted another cigarette. 

“ You don’t smoke before breakfast? I congratu¬ 
late you. . . . There’s your tray. And here,” 

touching himself on the breast, “ is your audience. 
While you get food, give me information.” 

Slayton went rapidly through the night’s events. 
The captain listened attentively; almost without 
comment. Now and then he blew a wide smoke 
wreath, and through it a smaller one. With the 
end in Slayton’s wild ride to the city he rose. And 
his manner was no longer casual. Into it had en¬ 
tered decisiveness. 

“ Shall we start now? ” he asked. 

It was hardly a question. 

“ Where? ” 

“ Wherever this Fritz happens to be.” 

Already slipping out of his dressing-gown, the 
captain reached to press a button. And he put a 
question as he slipped on his coat: 

“ Do we have to go to the police for his address? ” 

“ I know the address of a woman said to be his 
wife. Mrs. Slayton’s hair-dresser,” George ex¬ 
plained. 

“ Excellent.” 

The captain reached for his hat and gloves. And 
that moment the beaming face of Patrick Hallahan 
appeared, framed in the partly opened door. 

256 


SKURLING REVEALED 


“ We’re going away, Patrick,” said ike captain. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

After a moment’s fruitless anticipation, he mus¬ 
tered courage to ask: 

“ Where, Captain? ” 

u I don’t know, Patrick.” 

Unenlightened, Patrick was still not dismayed. 

“ Shall I pack, Captain? ” 

“ Just get the car. . . . And, Pat-” 

His faithful servitor beamed at the diminu¬ 
tive. 

“ Look in the car you took to the garage early 
this morning. Get the license card, if there is one, 
and any scrap of paper you find in it.” 

“ Now? ” inquired Patrick. 

“ At once.” 

The captain picked up the thread of his conversa¬ 
tion with Slayton, who saw in him another man, 
alert and masterful. It was the famous hunter who 
chose to appear a flhneur at home. 

“ Do you think,” he asked, “ you could find the 
way back to the house you were shut up in? ” 

“ Perhaps. But ’twould be more luck than 
shrewdness. I have only the haziest idea. I count 
on Colahan, if he is able, making a bee-line for 
town.” 

“ Likely you’re right,” the captain assented. 
“And we have one address to start on. It’s my 
experience the first chance is as likely to be the 
true clue as the last one. . . . All ready? ” 

257 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


For answer Slayton stooped to take his street 
clothes from a chair. 

“Have you a revolver?” the captain asked 
abruptly. 

“ Not with me.” 

“ A good friend in a pinch.” 

The captain paused before a strong box, and took 
a key from his pocket. But he did not use it. 
After meditative stroking of his chin, he turned to 
a pistol case on a table near by, and drew there¬ 
from a pair of shining weapons. Sighting one care¬ 
fully, he passed it to Slayton. The other he dropped 
into a coat pocket. 

“ The best American arms,” he observed. 

“ But not quite equal to the French,” said Slay¬ 
ton, handling his revolver with the appreciation of 
an expert. 

“ Less delicate on the trigger,” the captain 
agreed. 

They went on to the stairs. The captain led the 
way, with momentary pause for a question as he 
put his foot on the top step: 

“ Was it a French 38 they used on your 
brother? ” 

“ The police said so. You remember they lost 
the revolver after the grand jury indicted. So it 
wasn’t an exhibit at the trial.” 

“ I remember now,” said the captain. “ A juror 
shouldn’t need the reminder.” 

Patrick awaited them at the curb. To the cap- 

258 


SKURLING REVEALED 


tain he gave his usual semi-military salute, as he 
extended a gauntleted hand. 

u You found these in the other car? ” his em¬ 
ployer observed, looking at a card and the super¬ 
scription of a letter. 

u I did, Captain.” 

Now Slayton was looking at the exhibits with 
satisfaction. 

“ They ought to help. Fritz’s license card bears 
the same address given me for Dora.” 

“ Suppose we try that first,” the captain sug¬ 
gested. “ And what about the letter? ” 

“ * Fritz ’ of the address must be the old father.” 

“ And ‘ Bowville, It. F. D. 3 ’ the neighborhood 
in which you had your surprise party last night. 
That’s in reserve. We may have to deliver Uncle 
Sam’s mail.” 

They stepped into the waiting car, which started 
almost before the captain’s, “ All right, Patrick.” 

To the casual eye a pair of idle gentlemen off for 
a ride. Slayton was at first distrait, nervous and 
somewhat abstracted, thinking of Leila’s immediate 
danger and the great stake for which they played. 
The captain, on the contrary, seemed in high 
feather. Danger’s proximity was like the aroma 
of wine to his nostrils. He spoke of adventures 
with man and beast in the wilds. And sometimes 
he patted his pistol pocket affectionately. 

They reached the street of their destination, and 
the desired number. 


259 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


(i Drive around the block,” the captain ordered 
as Patrick turned inquiringly. 

If they were correctly informed, Dora, putative 
wife of the unfaithful Fritz, lived in the middle of 
a red brick row. Just the dull expanse of a warren 
appropriate to many of its inhabitants. 

“ How shall we brace it? ” queried the captain. 

“ I don’t know,” Slayton confessed. “ It 
wouldn’t be natural for me to come w ith a message 
to a hair-dresser. And that’s all the excuse I can 
think of now.” 

“ I have it,” said the captain. “ We are pro¬ 
spective tenants looking for the janitor.” 

The puzzle of two men by all signs belonging to 
the upper East Side looking for rooms in a dingy 
block on the West Side was spared that worthy. 
For they sat another minute in the car, while the 
captain heard and answered Slayton’s question: 

“ If we find Fritz here, what shall we use? ” 

“ Force. All that is needed to keep him from 
getting away. I’m game for consequences.” 

u All right. I don’t want to let you into an un¬ 
pleasant surprise.” 

They alighted without further exchange. That 
moment a man turning in from the sidewalk went 
rapidly up the steps. 

“ I say,” the captain called in a British manner. 
a Is this Number 414? ” 

“ See for yourself,” the man answered gruffly, 
inserting his key in the lock of the street door. 

260 


SKURLING REVEALED 


“ I am looking for the janitor,” the captain ex¬ 
plained. 

“ I don’t know of anything to hinder.” 

The unsociable one vanished within, and the door, 
drawn by its powerful spring, closed quickly after 
him. 

“ Manners,” remarked the captain philosophic¬ 
ally, “ are wasted on the mass. Seemingly, we 
must hunt the janitor in—What do you call her? 
Yes,—Dora’s flat. She doesn’t know you, does 
she? ” 

“ By sight, maybe. I’ve a feeling I am spotted 
everywhere, since the trial. And when I think how 
much worse it has been for Leila-” 

The captain laid a reassuring hand lightly on his 
arm. 

“ I know,” he said. “ But we’re going to get her: 
out of the mess.” 

a We must. And forgive me for leaning on you. 
You’re tremendously kind. But, after all, it isn’t 
your funeral.” 

“ It may be.” 

The captain regarded him with a slightly ironic 
smile. 

“ Anyway, don’t apologize. I have never spe¬ 
cialized in philanthropy.” 

In mutual assent they went up the steps. They 
sought and found the janitor’s bell. And Slayton 
put a firm finger on the button in sustained pres¬ 
sure. 


261 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ It may be difficult to manoeuvre him to Dora’s 
apartment,” be reflected. “ But I guess it can be 
managed.” 

Tbe captain, who bad been smoking with unusual 
vigor, nodded and struck another match. 

“ Let’s have a look at him. Then we can tell 
if simple bribery is the best policy.” 

A faint click of the closing vestibule inner door 
gave notice of the presence of a slatternly woman 
who evidently had enjoyed some advantage of pre¬ 
liminary inspection. Now she opened the street 
door the merest bit to address them inhospi¬ 
tably. 

“ What is it? ” 

“ We are looking for the janitor,” the captain ex¬ 
plained with his most urbane manner. 

“ What for? ”—snappishly. 

“ We understand he has an apartment to rent.” 

“ Well-” said the woman grudgingly, and 

opened the door a bit more. 

That moment Slayton strongly gripped the cap¬ 
tain’s forearm. 

“ Turn slowly,” he urged in a low voice, “ and see 
a man crossing the street just above here.” 

The captain gave the desired inspection to a man 
crossing diagonally, with an appearance of leisure, 
and complete indifference to his surroundings. 

“ Yes? ” he said interrogatively. 

“ It’s Fritz.” 

Slayton spoke rapidly, and sotto voce. 

262 



SKURLING REVEALED 


“ He lias recognized me, I think. He was half¬ 
way across the street when I noticed him, just as he 
turned back. I don’t think he knows I have seen 
him.” 

“ Then our cue-” 

“ Is to follow him, at a discreet distance.” 

“ All right.” 

The captain’s assent was instant. The next sec¬ 
ond he turned to the palpably curious woman with 
a bow. 

“ Please forgive us for causing you useless trou¬ 
ble. The fact is, my friend has just remembered 
an imperative engagement. If we come again to¬ 
morrow, perhaps you’ll be good enough to show us 
some rooms. . . . Good-morning.” 

They were down the steps, and had reached the 
spot where Patrick sat at the wheel before the 
woman closed the door. Then she stood watching 
inside, her eyes agog with excitement. 

Never looking back, their quarry proceeded with 
studious indifference to a taxi standing on a corner 
some two hundred yards away. 

“ Patrick-” said the captain. 

“ Sir,” Patrick responded, with his habit of ver¬ 
bal assent to forthcoming orders. In this instance, 
however, the original purpose was never expressed. 
For a metred cab came rolling almost noiselessly 
to a stand just behind them at the curb. Slayton 
saw it was empty. And pushing the captain before 
him, he promptly stepped in. 

263 




IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ I’m engaged,” said tlie driver in somewhat surly 
fashion. 

“ To me,” observed Slayton. 

“ Guess again.” 

Slayton silently extended a ten-dollar note. Its 
lubrication was conspicuous. At once the driver 
was mildly obliging. 

“ That’s different. Where to? ” 

Slayton pointed to the cab Fritz was about to 
enter. 

“ Follow it,” he directed. “ But not so close they 
know you’re doing it.” 

“ You’re on.” 

Fritz entered his taxi with a fleeting look over his 
shoulder. He saw only the captain’s closed car, 
with Patrick at the wheel, and the cab standing 
behind it. With an audible slam of the cab door he 
disappeared. That second the captain leaned out, 
addressing Patrick. 

“ Go back to the garage.” 

“ Yes, Captain.” 

Patrick was obviously flustered. 

“And wait at home until I call you. . . . 

Don’t start until we leave.” 

Continued nodding of a bewildered head showed 
the order was understood. 

The taxi containing Fritz made a half-turn, as 
if to run past them down the street. And they sat 
far back to escape observation. But seemingly 
Fritz changed his mind. For his driver stopped 

264 


SKURLING REVEALED 


abruptly, and backed to straighten out for a run 
up-town, or a turn at the neighboring corner. 
Which? If the latter, they might lose the trail* 
lacking the taxi’s number. But it must be risked. 
For obviously Fritz, knowing himself pursued, 
would not lead them to the hiding-place of his mis¬ 
tress and the jewels. And that way only could he 
be reached, pending laborious investigation. And 
there might be no time for that. 

The pursued taxi got under way. And their 
driver swung easily into line behind it. Not turn¬ 
ing the corner, the governing cab went on, straight 
up-town. Slayton leaned forward, with a sigh of 
relief, to instruct the chauffeur. 

“ Get near enough to read the number. Then 
fall back a little.” 

The man nodded in reply, with a flick of the 
finger productive of a little more speed. The taxi 
ahead was a hundred yards distant; now fifty. 
There the captain’s sharper eyes penetrated its 
dusty inscription. 

“Number 356,281,” he read aloud. “You can 
ease up now, driver.” 

To Slayton he said: 

“ I think I understand your reasoning.” 

The initiative removed from his hands, he re¬ 
laxed to his characteristic attitude of the philo¬ 
sophic observer. Conversely, Slayton became more 
incisive. 

“It’s this,” he said. “All we wanted of Dora 

265 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


was a clue to Fritz’s whereabouts. She isn’t in on 
this criminal game. With all her funny ways, she’s 
straight as they make them. I’ve heard of her from 
Leila, and other women I know. They’re really 
fond of her. Since Fritz has appeared, there’s noth¬ 
ing she can do to help us. . . . As to dropping 

your car for the taxi,—Fritz saw it and probably 
remembers its appearance. Seeing it again would 
make him suspicious. But a taxi—is just any taxi. 
With luck we’ll trail him to something worth 
while.” 

“ Exactly,” agreed the captain. 

A hand in his left coat-pocket withdrew a re¬ 
volver sufficiently for him to regard it half-tenderly. 

“ Just count on me,” he said, “ for anything.” 

With that assurance came silence. Each 
wrapped in thought, but keeping half-automatic 
watch on the car ahead, they sped through the 
Bronx, on into patchily settled neighborhoods. 
And still on into the quite open country. Once the 
captain looked at his watch. 

“ We’re going far,” he observed. 

The next minute it seemed doubtful. Climbing 
a slight hill to a little crossroads cluster of houses, 
their car began coughing. It reached the top, went 
on a few yards, and stopped. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Slayton as the 
driver half-turned from the wheel. 

“ Gas is out.” 

“ You should have seen to that.” 

266 


8KURLING REVEALED 


He spoke sharply. But the chauffeur, having a 
good defense, chose not to he angry. 

“ I had enough for town,” he replied placatingly. 
“ And how was I to know you wanted to go to the 
bloomin’ border? ” 

“ There’s a service station.” 

The captain’s roving eyes had first marked the 
familiar pump and red sign before a structure 
squatting by the roadside less than a hundred yards 
away. 

“ That’s luck.” 

With the words Slayton was out of the taxi, and 
proceeding to the rear. 

“ Let’s push her up,” he added. u Quick.” 

With the chauffeur keeping a hand on the wheel, 
they rolled the car up to the pump. Three, perhaps 
four, minutes had elapsed since its stopping dis¬ 
mayed them. But with thoughts of Fritz steadily 
receding down the road the delay seemed tremen¬ 
dous. 

An individual in his shirt-sleeves lounged to the 
door. 

“ Gas? ” he asked disinterestedly. 

“ Yes. And quick.” 

“ How much? ” 

He was slowly making the necessary connec¬ 
tion. 

“ All it will hold.” 

11 Enough,” said the chauffeur presently. “ Make 
her ship-shape while I try the engine.” 

267 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


It answered readily enough. And Slayton and 
the captain stepped in. 

“ Let’s see/’ said the oil man. “ That’ll be-” 

“ All right.’ 7 

With mouth agape, he stood staring alternately 
at the disappearing taxi and the bill Slayton had 
thrust into his hand. 

The pursuit was now furious. Precious minutes 
lost had given Fritz a lead of miles. Had he kept a 
straight course? They must trust to luck. 

“ I guess there are no speed regulations out 
here,” was Slayton’s only suggestion to the driver. 
“ Straight ahead, unless I tell you to turn.” 

After a considerable level stretch they came to 
a valley, in which another highway met their road 
at right-angles. Along it came another car as they 
rushed down the slope. Interest in it vanished 
with a glance. It was only a runabout bearing 
lovers. 

Soon, for the taxi was extended to its utmost, 
they reached a considerable growth of scrub pines. 
In the midst of it two roads converged, with the 
main highway on which they ran cutting straight 
through. Slayton’s observation that they were lit¬ 
tle travelled was gleaned in the second or two of his 
further impression that by the narrowest margin 
they had missed removing the bridle of a brown 
horse coming from the left. 

On and on they went. Two cars they overtook 
and passed. But not a taxi. A half-hour had 

268 



SKURLING REVEALED 


elapsed when Slayton’s eyes met those of the cap¬ 
tain in a mutual thought. Leaning forward, he 
rapped on the glass behind the driver, who half 
turned his head, with some abatement of speed. 

“ We’ll stop now,” he directed. 

A convenient place was soon reached. The 
grassy approach to a pasture afforded fair parking 
space. There Slayton and the captain took coun¬ 
sel, while the driver examined sorely tried ma¬ 
chinery. 

“We must have passed him a long way back,” 
said the captain. 

“ Yes. It was our rotten luck that he turned off,” 
Slayton agreed. “ I suppose the next thing to do is 
to hunt for Bowville, R. F. D. 3. I haven’t the 
slightest idea which way it is.” 

“Well, we can ask,” the captain offered philo¬ 
sophically. “ And I hear someone coming now.” 

The honk of a horn, with the waxing volume of 
approach, came from no great distance. Lighting 
his pipe, the captain took a stand by the roadside. 
A runabout came bustling into view, and he 
stopped it with a casual seeming gesture. His 
question was without mark of special concern: 

“ We’re looking for Bowville. Can you give us 
a hint? ” 

“ Sorry,” explained the spectacled man at the 
wheel. “ I never travelled this way before.” 

“ Let’s stand pat, and try once more,” suggested 
the captain, quite unruffled. “As I recall, there 

269 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

are more people on the road than living beside 
it.” 

The next passer-by was posted. It was a farmer 
perched behind a fat and dawdling nag. 

“ Bowville? Yes, I can tell ye.” 

He reflectively pulled a chin-whisker. 

“ First turn to the right,” pointing with his whip 
down the road. “ Then the second left. It’s quite 
a piece in, with an old barn on the corner lot. Then 
if you go on about five miles, I calculate you’ll be in 
the neighborhood you’re a-looking for.” 

They followed directions; even exceeded them. 
Then Slayton was smitten by doubt, which proved 
unjustified. 

“ You’re headed right,” a man chewing a straw, 
and leaning hard on a rail-fence, assured them. 
“Who you lookin’ for? Fritz Colahan? Well, 
just take the next right, and drive straight as you 
can right into his dooryard. . . . No, it ain’t 

very near. Maybe five miles. Just happens I know 
him.” 

On again they hastened, with the dust of country 
roads billowing deep behind them. As their final 
informant had promised, they drove at last straight 
across a skirting turnpike, into the desired door- 
yard. Their driver applied his brake in accentua¬ 
tion of the final jolt. 

To Slayton the place had no associations by day¬ 
light. Undecided as the captain, he viewed the 
unpromising premises. The house seemed tenant- 

270 


SKURLING REVEALED 


less as they stopped by the wide veranda, and 
stepped from their cab. 

Slayton raised the big knocker of the front door, 
and let it fall. With its loud peal each dropped a 
hand into his pistol pocket. Presently slow foot¬ 
steps were heard, and the door was opened. 

An old man of benevolent aspect regarded them 
over steel-rimmed spectacles. He was weather- 
beaten ; and his dress proclaimed the farmer. 

“ We’re looking for Mr. Colahan,” explained 
Slayton. 

“ I’m Colahan.” 

“ Fritz Colahan? ” the captain supplemented. 

“ He’s my son,” said the old man cordially. 
“ Glad to see you. Come right in.” 

“ If he isn’t here, we won’t wait,” Slayton sug¬ 
gested, as they reached the hall. “ We’re in rather 
a hurry.” 

“ Can’t you set down? Now, that’s too bad.” 

The old man was plainly disappointed. An idea 
came to him as he pushed the spectacles high on his 
nose. 

“ Maybe one of you is the feller Fritz left the 
address for.” 

“ Oh, did he? ” said the captain quickly. “ That’s 
just it.” 

They watched with masked anxiety his examina¬ 
tion of the contents of a vest pocket. A bit of 
tobacco, a piece of string; also a large safety-pin, 
and a penny. And a folded scrap of brown paper 

271 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


he handed to the captain. Four words were 
scribbled on it; 

“ Cadiz . Braun’s Wharf. Tuesday.” 

“ Thanks,” said the captain. “ Has he been 
gone long? ” 

“ Left with his wife, quite a while ago. Happen 
you know anything about the prisoner he’s going to 
South Ameriky for? ” 

“If we get there in time, we may save him the 
trip.” 

“ I want to know.” 

Old Colahan followed them into the yard. 

“ Sorry you can’t stay for a bit,” he said hospi¬ 
tably. 

Roving casually, Slayton’s eyes lighted on a little 
square of linen. Half-concealed by a handful of 
late hay, it lay there, almost under the running- 
board of the taxi. Picking it up, he instinctively 
applied it to his nostrils. 

The perfume it carried went straight to his brain. 
He looked for marking. “ L. S.” embroidered in a 
corner. 

“ Was anybody else with your son, when he left 
this morning? ” he asked sharply. 

“ It’s funny you ask.” Old Colahan looked his 
surprise. “As a matter of fact, there was. A 
young woman I kept over night. Far’s I could 
make out, her horse threw her a piece up the road, 
yesterday. And I picked her up.” 

“ Do you know her name? ” 

272 


SKURLING REVEALED 


“No. She wa’n’t conscious yesterday. And I 
didn’t see her this morning.” 

“ What did she look like? ” 

In his anxiety Slayton grew dictatorial. But 
old Colahan was nowise offended. Only puzzled, 
and anxious to please. 

“ I ain’t much of a hand,” he apologized, “ at de¬ 
scribing women. “But she was pretty formed. 
About medium height, I guess. Lots of right 
pretty reddish hair. And eyes sort of green. Good 
looking, she was.” 

“ Where did Fritz take her? ” 

“Why, she told him where she lived, he said. 
And he was takin’ her home. I don’t know where it 
is. There was too much to think about, with all the 
rest. If I was to tell you of all the queer doings 
here last night-” 

A peal of the telephone bell checked his confi¬ 
dence. With, “ Excuse me, please,” he disappeared 
in the direction of its summons. But a comfort¬ 
able looking housewife continued to regard 
them from a doorway at the farther end of the 
hall. 

“ Well? ” the captain queried when old Colahan 
was at a safe distance within doors. 

“ It’s Leila’s handkerchief. And she is in Fritz’s 
hands.” 

“ That’s jumping to a conclusion.” 

“ Do you think he would overlook a chance like 
that? ” * 


273 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


u From what yon tell me of him, probably not,” 
the captain admitted. 

“ She was here last night. And I never knew 
it.” 

u You’ve no reason to reproach yourself for that. 
It’s only in plays and stories, you know, that men 
have that psychic sense of the unseen. As I recall, 
you arrived unconscious, and left in a good deal of 
a hurry.” 

“ But somehow I should have known,” Slay¬ 
ton insisted. “ Since I didn’t, they’ve got her. 
And the first thing for us to do now is to find 
her.” 

“ Yes, Fritz would count on that.” 

The captain tapped a cigarette reflectively. 

“ So to speak, if you’ll pardon the expression, she 
is the herring drawn across his trail.” 

“ That isn’t going to stop me. I’ll have her back 
to-day. And if he hurts her-” 

“ He’ll be punished enough, if the state gets him 
for murder.” 

Apparently taking counsel from the sky, the cap¬ 
tain proceeded to a question: 

u Shall I talk to the old boy a bit when he comes 
back? ” 

“ While I-?” 

Slayton caught the suggested idea midway in his 
counter question. 

“ Yes, I see what you mean. If old Colahan will 
let me, I’ll telephone our house.” 

274 




SKURLING REVEALED 


“We may as well make sure she is lost before we 
start bunting for her.” 

The sound of heavy boots on bare boards gave 
warning of the old farmer’s return. Hurrying, 
half-shuffling, and rather out of breath, he appeared 
in the doorway. 

“ I didn’t expect to be so long,” he said apolo¬ 
getically. “ It was Fritz on the telephone. And he 
had quite a lot to say.” 

“ Don’t apologize,” said the captain. “ We’ve 
been having a little chat.” 

“ I told him you’d come.” 

“ You did? ” 

Slayton’s question had rather the accent of an 
exclamation. 

“ Yes. Are you the feller he expected? ” 

The captain was addressed. 

“ As a matter of fact,” he said easily, “ I’m not. 
I came for him.” 

“ That’s what Fritz thought. I told him what 
you looked like, and he said he didn’t recognize 
you.” 

“ Couldn’t he guess who I was? ” asked Slayton. 

“ He didn’t try, because I didn’t describe you 
to him,” explained the farmer, adding lialf-apol- 
ogetically, “ I thought you just come along 
for company. And it was hard talking. Lost 
him twice. He didn’t finish all he wanted to 
say. But he’s coming out to-night, if he can get 
here.” 


275 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

u Too bad we can’t wait. . . . Where is he 
now? ” 

The captain’s voice had the proper shading of 
regret. Old Colahan rose to the bait. 

“ In Faunceton. Sure you can’t wait? I’d ad¬ 
mire to have you stay for supper.” 

“ Sorry we can’t. The fact is, I’ve already missed 
an engagement,” said Slayton, adding apparently 
in afterthought: “ Could I use your telephone a 
few minutes? It may be I can pick the party up 
later.” 

“ Help yourself. It’s right at the end of the hall. 
Turn left into the little closet there. Hope you 
have better luck than I did.” 

As he entered the house the last words Slayton 
heard were the captain’s: 

“ Let’s see. About how far did you say it was to 
Faunceton? ” 

The telephone was easily found. But minutes 
elapsed before he realized it was an old-fashioned 
instrument without the automatic call. He turned 
a handle vigorously, and was agreeably astonished 
by the operator’s prompt response. The way 
seemed smoothed, the machinery oiled for him. So 
soon he was not even moved to examine his watch 
he heard the droningly propounded question: 

“ Trying Pla-za-? There’s your party! ” 

“ No,” said a servant answering. “ Mrs. Slayton 
is not at home.” 

“ Can you tell me when she will be? ” 

276 



SKURLING REVEALED 


“ I can’t say, sir.” 

“ May I speak with, her maid? ” 

There followed a moment of silence, and the im¬ 
patient explanation: 

“ This is George Slayton speaking.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir.” 

The voice at the other end of the wire suddenly 
changed. Now it was saturated with desire to 
please. 

“ A moment, sir. I will call Marie at once.” 

A brief pause, with stray murmurs of intercepted 
voices, and the familiar inquiry,—“Did you get 
your party?” of the girl at the switchboard. His 
mind snapped back with the first syllable of eager 
salutation: 

“ Oh, Mr. George! ” 

He stopped her with a curt question: 

“ Where is your mistress, Marie? ” 

“ We do not know, sir. Not since yesterday.” 

“ Have you no message? ” 

“ No, sir. Madame went riding. But she did not 

return. All night I waited. And the horse-” 

He sensed her struggle for control of breath, as she 
resumed: “ Carlin says the horse is found.” 

“ There must have been an accident.” He tried 
to speak cheerfully. “ We’ll find her.” 

“ And will you find her soon? ” 

Her voice supplicated. 

“ To-day, I think,” he answered confidently. 

As he hung up the receiver he heard her half- 

277 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


whispered petition to the good God. In the yard he 
found old Colahan with one foot on the running- 
board of the taxi, talking to the captain, who was 
comfortably seated within. 

“ Did you have good luck? ” he asked amiably. 

“ I found out what I wanted to know. But I’ll 
have to hurry to get anything out of it. It’s later 
than I thought.” 

“ The days are gettin’ pretty short.” Old Cola¬ 
han removed his foot from the running-board, and 
shaded his eyes for a better observation of the west¬ 
ering sun. 

“ Well, good luck to you. Sorry you couldn’t 
stay longer.” 

Evidently not one who clung to farewells. With 
these words he turned to the barn. 

Slayton spoke first, as they crossed the highway 
at the foot of the yard: 

“ It seems rotten to treat the old man so.” 

The captain selected, and carefully tapped a 
cigarette. 

“ If Fritz were like his father, we’d have to 
hunt another candidate for the chair,” he re¬ 
marked. . . . “ I suppose Mrs. Slayton is miss¬ 

ing? ” 

“ She has not been seen since she went riding 
yesterday.” 

“Then Fritz didn’t take her home. He has hidden 
her somewhere. The sooner we get him, the better 
for everybody. Except him,” the captain corrected 

278 


SKURLING REVEALED 


himself, and leaned forward to the driver: “ Speed, 
please.” To Slayton he resumed: 

ct I understand this is the only road from here 
to Faunceton. And Colahan says it runs so 
straight we can’t lose our way.” 

“ Then if Fritz is on it, we get him.” 

With nodded assent, the captain wrapped him¬ 
self in seemingly dreamy silence. And Slayton was 
busy with his thoughts, as the taxi rattled on 
with much dust, and jolting that was no induce¬ 
ment to conversation. Mile after mile they rode 
thus, with occasional quickening to vigilant atten¬ 
tion as they drew up on some motor ahead, or 
saw, with its kindred dust cloud, a car advanc¬ 
ing to meet their own. Always it was a false 
alarm. 

Until, just past a corner by which the road-mak¬ 
ers had skirted a ledge thatched with scrub oak and 
vines, they came upon a taxi parked a few yards 
in from the roadside. It was on Slayton’s side. 
And he anticipated the captain in discovery by a 
few seconds. Just long enough for him to lean 
forward with a command for their driver to stop. 
He obeyed with alacrity in a wedge-shaped patch 
marking the intersection of their humble highway 
with a smooth macadam road. 

They had reached an artery of travel. What of 
human life was near by remained to be seen. For 
the nonce no sight of man or habitation greeted 
the eye. As they started back to the seemingly 

279 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

abandoned car swift autumn twilight was darken¬ 
ing the sky. 

“ A sweet spot for a crime/’ said the captain 
meditatively. 

Each tightened his grip on his revolver as they 
turned into a gap in a stone wall. Part behind it, 
and just off wheel tracks with goldenrod growing 
abundantly between them, the taxi of problematic 
interest stood, unoccupied and with quiet engine. 

The captain stood guard as Slayton, striking a 
match to aid his eyes, stooped to read its number 
in the failing light: 

“ Number 356,281.” 

He read it aloud, and straightened up. 

“ Now where is Fritz? ” 

There was no answer to their question, as they 
turned in deliberate survey, keeping back to back. 
But just then came a twinkle of light in the thin 
screen of neighboring trees. 

“ Perhaps one of us,” said the captain, “ had bet¬ 
ter wait here. If he jumps us in the dark, it’s a 
slim chance.” 

For answ r er Slayton lifted the hood of the car, 
and busied himself briefly with its machinery. 

“ Now there’s a nice little problem of adjust¬ 
ment,” he observed, dropping the hood again. a If 
he gets away with that in a hurry, he’s a miracu¬ 
lous machinist. And that goes for the taxi driver, 
too, if he still has one. . . . Come on.” 

No adventure marked their cautious progress 

280 


SKURLING REVEALED 


through, the grove. They came suddenly to its 
farther edge, and saw what was heyond. A little 
clearing that made a nearly complete circle, bi¬ 
sected by the turnpike. And a few flimsy seeming 
houses, with somehow the air of things dropped 
casually, and left where they stood. Behind 
those on the opposite side of the road trees rose 
in a thick rampart against the fast jjaling sky, 
in which already widely scattered stars shone 
whitely. 

The light they had first seen came from a struc¬ 
ture on the left, some fifty yards perhaps, and set a 
slight distance back from a footpath threading its 
way through fringing grasses. As they looked a 
form was outlined against the luminous patch of an 
uncurtained window. Broad and coatless, it gave 
them no concern. 

“ What do you think-? ” the captain began, 

and paused. 

Fate came to their rescue in momentary inde¬ 
cision. A man emerged from a little house almost 
directly opposite, and walked toward them across 
the road. They stepped back into the protecting 
shadows. He passed in the direction of the build¬ 
ing under observation. It was unquestionably 
Fritz. 

He entered, and they saw him in evident colloquy 
with the shirt-sleeved individual first beheld. On 
creeping a few yards nearer, they noted a counter 
between the pair, and had a glimpse of shelves with 

281 



IN THE TENTH MOON 

many bottles. Evidently some sort of wayside 
shop. 

The man behind the counter pointed to a swing¬ 
ing door, through which Fritz disappeared. As 
they looked about there was no sign of any person 
stirring abroad. And the shopkeeper seemed busy 
with some task before him. They moved hastily 
forward, to a spot under a window near the back 
of the building. And listened, straining to catch 
any sound. 

For a minute or so they heard only their beating 
hearts. Then the voice of Fritz, giving a telephone 
number. The operator evidently made a mistake at 
first. So he repeated emphatically,—“ 4095.” 

“ Yes,” he said presently. “ Is this Skurling? ” 

A brief pause. 

“I want to speak to Rosie Shapiro. . . . 
Yes, she is.” 

Someone was denying knowledge of Rosie, it 
seemed. 

“A new attendant,” Fritz explained. “Just 
came to-day. Look her up, will you? I want to 
speak to her.” 

More delay. They heard him moving uneasily, 
the shuffling of feet, and rapping of knuckles. At 
last Rosie came. They knew that by Fritz’s re¬ 
buke. 

“ Why didn’t you come, as I told you to? ” 

Listening to her excuse, he was somewhat molli¬ 
fied, but still not amiable. 

282 


SKURLING REVEALED 


u I suppose if tlie doctor was there, you couldn’t 
help it,” he grumbled. “ Any trouble with her? ” 

Rosie seemed to offer a good report, and a sug¬ 
gestion. 

“ I guess that’ll be all right,” Fritz agreed, after 
a moment’s consideration. “ They won’t let her get 
away. And it’ll be easier for you to slip out. Say 
about half-past nine. Don’t fail now. And the 
same place,—right at the corner of the lane.” 

Rosie had only time for expression of assent. 
Then Fritz broke in again. 

“ I got to rustle along now. That feller in town 
may be cookin’ up trouble for us. But I guess we’ve 
got him spiked while we hold his girl. He knows 
she’s gone. I left word where he lives for him to 
call her house this mornin’. . . . It’s up to 

you, Rosie, to keep him runnin’. Be good, and 
you’ll wear diamonds. So long.” 

His emphatic hanging-up of the receiver closely 
preceded his return to the front of the shop. As if 
in haste, he paid the charge, and left. Stooping 
low, they watched him down the path up which 
they had come. 

“ What do you think? ” the captain asked softly. 

“ Leila first,” said Slayton. “ We know his plan 
for a getaway. And pretty closely where he ex¬ 
pects to be meantime. With her out of harm’s 
way, there’ll be nothing to hamper us.” 

“My idea, too,” the captain assented. “Well, 
let’s try the shop.” 


283 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


Standing on tiptoe, they looked in. Cases of con¬ 
fectionery, cigarettes, cigars, pipe tobacco. Shelves 
holding varicolored jars; compartments labelled; 
odds and ends; even a machine offering one's cor¬ 
rect weight for a penny. A country drug-store. 
Whence came its business? 

Keeping their heads low, they edged their way to 
the sidewalk. Had they been observed, which was 
not the case, the uncertainty of their demeanor 
would have caused less comment than they sup¬ 
posed. They paused at the doorstep. 

“ The thing to do," said the captain, drawing in¬ 
spiration from an empty case, “ is to buy ciga¬ 
rettes." 

“ Of course," Slayton agreed. “ Druggists know 
everything." 

As they entered the proprietor was busy counting 
white pills, with which he filled a little bottle. A 
thick-set, ruddy-faced man, with bushy gray brows 
and twinkling eyes. He kept them waiting until 
his count was complete. Then he came to serve 
them with a hitching step. 

“ Do you know a place called ‘Skurling’?" 
asked Slayton, as the cash-drawer clanged its an¬ 
nouncement of sale. 

“ Sure," said the druggist. 

“ Can you direct us to it? " 

The druggist looked from Slayton to the captain, 
and back again. His eyebrows were working com¬ 
ically. 


284 


SKURLING REVEALED 


“ What's the joke? " he asked. 

“ No joke at all," offered the captain. “ Isn't it 
a simple question? " 

The druggist retreated a little, to get a better 
barrier of show-case. Thus fortified, he indulged 
in sarcasm: 

“ Don't you know the way home? " 

They stared at him in honest amazement. 

“ Can't you find your way," he continued, 
“ around the corner of this store, and up a lane? " 

“ Is that where it is ? " 

So early an end to their quest seemed unbeliev¬ 
ably good luck. 

“ Do you mind telling us," pursued Slayton, 
“ what it is? " 

The druggist's eyebrows were again convulsed. 

“ Some," he said, u call it a ‘ nut factory.’ 
Maybe they're right." 

With this parting shot he went hitching forward 
to serve an urchin standing covetously before the 
candy counter. The boy shrank into a corner as 
Slayton and the captain strolled out. Apparently, 
Skurling was a sanitorium. And they were taken 
for two of its inmates. Was Leila there, detained 
as a patient? 

“ Why not brace it? " Slayton suggested. u The 
druggist wasn't astonished to see us out. Then it 
should be possible to get in." 

“ Let's see how-" said the captain. 

285 



IN THE TENTH MOON 

Slayton’s stick rang sharply on the wall by which 
they stood. 

“ I have it. You’re the doctor. And I’m the 
patient. Quite evidently it’s one of those nervine 
places. . . . That’s enough to go on, isn’t it? ” 

“ For me.” 

With the prospect of immediate action the cap¬ 
tain grew animated. 

“Now let’s spot the place, and get our taxi. 
It won’t do for patients to arrive out here on 
foot.” 

Skurling was easily discovered with the given 
clue. They gathered it must be the large house 
easily seen, and for a place of that sort surprisingly 
illuminated,—once they had crossed the front of the 
store and rounded a clump of alders, with a great 
bill-board standing behind. There was a gate with 
quite the look of the entrance to a gentleman’s 
estate, and a driveway winding into the dusk be¬ 
yond. 

“ Better keep to the turnpike,” Slayton suggested 
as they turned back. “ It’s less risk, since we don’t 
want to meet Fritz just now. If he isn’t a crack 
mechanic, or his driver clever with machinery, 
likely enough he’s still around.” 

They saw their taxi waiting, its tail-light mark¬ 
ing the intersection of roads. As they came up 
their driver stretched and yawned. 

“ Quite a stay,” he observed. 

“ And going to be longer.” 

286 


SKURLING REVEALED 

Slayton thrust a bank-note into bis balf-open 
band. 

“We want you,” be explained, “to drive us up 
tbe road, past the store you’ll see, and into the 
driveway leading to a bouse just beyond. You 
leave us there and come back here to wait. Can’t 
tell how long it will be. Get some lollypops, ice¬ 
cream soda,—anything to keep you from starving, 
in the drug-store. But be ready when we come. 
. . . Do you understand? ” 

The driver pulled down his cap. 

“ I get you. This is my stand.” 

“And it’s a good idea,” the captain added, as 
they stepped into the cab, “to keep headed for 
town.” 

A short ride indeed. They seemed hardly under 
way when they stopped at a door. They looked out 
upon the ample outline of a mansion. For a sani- 
torium it was indeed well lighted. Almost a gay 
place. 

The door-plate reassured them. Under “ Skurl- 
ing Sanitorium ” they read the name of “ Doctor 
Maury.” Thus armed, they rang the bell. A beam¬ 
ing colored man presently responded. 

“ I’d like to see the doctor,” the captain observed, 
with what he took to be a professional manner. 

“Yes, sah.” The door opened wide to admit 
them. “Doctor’s busy just now. They’s a party 
to-night.” The negro grinned broadly. “ I’ll call 
him.” 


287 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


They had only a few minutes to wait. But short 
as it was, time sufficed for a surprise. A half-sup¬ 
pressed giggle drew attention to a gray-haired 
woman in baby-blue, standing in the doorway. 
With a simper, and a little courtesy, she tripped 
away into the shadows. 

“ I trust you won’t have to put me under lock 
and key,” observed Slayton. 

“ Not if I can help it.” 

The captain had recourse to the inevitable 
cigarette. 

“ Meantime, let me prescribe silence. In a place 
like this I’ve a feeling the very shadows have ears.” 

That at least was true of one moving silent as a 
shadow. Doctor Maury had them under observa¬ 
tion, again watching from behind the portieres, 
before they were aware of his presence. 

“ Doctor Blake? ” 

Rising in surprise, the captain turned and bowed. 

“ I suppose you’ve come about the woman who 
thinks she is a Slayton? ” the doctor continued. 

That moment with the captain was one of inspira¬ 
tion. 

“ It happens,” he said with his slightly melan¬ 
choly air, “that I’ve come not only to arrange 
about her, but to place another patient in your 
hands.” 

“ I sea” 

First Doctor Maury looked at Slayton, then back 
to the captain, inquiringly. The recipient of his 

288 


SKURLING REVEALED 


first scrutiny rose, and strolled into the hall. The 
captain could better sustain his brilliant start, if 
left alone. 

It was very interesting, he heard the doctor say, 
to note the number of those temporarily unbal¬ 
anced by reports of sensational murder trials. Was 
his man apt to be violent? “ Oh, no,” the captain 
said. He only needed rest; quiet, and soothing in¬ 
fluence ; which, he added, appeared to be all neces¬ 
sary in the case of the woman admitted earlier in 
the day. As to the female patient, at least, Doctor 
Maury agreed. 

“ Would you not,” he inquired, “ like to see her? 
And make a little inspection of my method of treat¬ 
ing nervous cases? I’m a believer in music, and 
generally in simple recreation.” 

The captain looked at his watch—doubtfully. 

“ If it doesn’t require much time,” he assented. 

“ Just up-stairs,” urged Doctor Maury, as Slay¬ 
ton reentered the room. “ We are having our regu¬ 
lar fortnightly party.” 

“ Are you game for a party, George? ” 

Slayton did not look at the captain. He studied 
the rug, and took a full minute to answer. 

“ I don’t mind,” he said at last. “ But I won’t 
go,” with sudden vigor, “ if doctors are going to ask 
me foolish questions.” 

“No one shall bother you,” the doctor assured 
him with a syrupy accent. “ This way please.” 

He drew back the portieres for them to step into 
the hall. 


289 


CHAPTER XV 


A DASH IN THE DUSK 

From the young man with a beard pointed and 
softly brown, and eyes blue as violets that open to 
the morning sun, Leila withdrew a step, evading 
the hand he would have laid upon her arm. 

“ If you will only tell me your trouble,” he urged, 
“ I will cure you.” 

“ But you see,” she protested, “ I haven’t any.” 

“ That’s what makes my work hard.” 

He shook his head indulgently. 

“ You see, that is what I am really here for. To 
heal the sick. Doctor Maury knows it. When I ex¬ 
plained it, he got the idea at once. But somehow 
the others cannot understand. Perhaps it’s the 
costume.” 

He looked down at his patent leathers and per¬ 
fectly pressed trousers. 

“ Would you like to see me,” with an eager catch 
of breath, “as I was in the most famous incarna¬ 
tion? In robe and sandals? ” 

“ Your name is DeVinne, and you come from 
Brooklyn.” 

A rasping voice over her shoulder arrested the 
declination on Leila’s lips. Without further 

290 


A DASH IN THE DUSK 


speech, and only a mildly reproachful look, the pro¬ 
fessed healer walked away. 

Turning to thank her rescuer, Leila wasi not 
greatly cheered. Short and swarthy, with sunken 
cheeks and a leathery skin, his bright black eyes 
peered sharply from under the brim of a big brown 
derby. And he wore a brown top-coat buttoned to 
the chin, with dogskin gloves. Mild as the night 
was, w T ith artificial heat indoors, Leila had found 
the room oppressively warm. 

“ Do I address Diana? ” he asked, removing his 
hat with a jerky bow. 

“ Oh, I’m not so famous.” 

She managed a propitiating smile. 

“ Then you are-? ” 

His accent was insistent. 

“ Leila Slayton.” 

In her nervous concern with surroundings she 
reduced her name to bald identification of the daily 
press. 

“ You don’t so much look the part.” 

A new sparkle in his eye, he surveyed her with 
a certain maliciousness. 

“ And you? ” she said. 

“ Why, I’m the one he said he was! ” 

“ You mean-? ” 

“ S-sh! Not so loud. A lot of people here are a 
little off. And I don’t know what they might do to 
me, if they found out about it.” 

His head turned in a rapid, stealthy survey. 

291 




IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ See that man at the piano? ” 

The individual indicated was young and stout, 
with puffy cheeks and an unwholesome, beardless 
look. 

“ He thinks he’s Nero.” 

Leila’s mentor quivered with his smothered 
laughter. And Nero, playing a movement of the 
“ Moonlight Sonata ” in ironic contrast to weird 
fancies seething in the air, finished with the ease 
of a virtuoso, and looked about. Finding himself 
ignored, he cupped his chin in his hands, and stared 
moodily at the keyboard. 

“ And there’s Mary, Queen of Scots.” 

Another jerk of the thumb toward a small blonde 
with a jewelled head-dress, who sat talking sedately 
with the elderly spindle-shanks first beheld by Leila 
as she left her room. 

“ Bah! ” 

The little man with the brown derby waxed 
venomous. 

“ I hear there’s a new one to-night that thinks 
he is your brother-in-law,” he observed sardonically. 

“ Where is he? ” 

Inexplicable hope was born that instant in Leila’s 
breast. 

“ Look at that. Sir Walter Kaleigh. Hah! ” 

He touched her elbow, directing attention to a 
man of grave demeanor and rather courtly aspect, 
pacing up and down the hall. 

“ And George Slayton—where is he? ” 

292 


A DASH IN THE DUSK 

“ I didn’t say it was 4 George.’ ” 

He corrected her with unexpected sharpness. 

“ But you said it was my brother-in-law.” 

“ Now I know your trouble. You read the news¬ 
papers.” 

He wagged his head magisterially. 

“ But where is he? ” 

Irrepressible anxiety made her urgent—too ur¬ 
gent, it seemed. 

He set out to soothe her. 

“Come with me—and I’ll tell you my secret. 
There’s a corner over there where no one will hear 
us.” 

“ After I see this Slayton.” 

“ Well,” he grumbled, “ come along. But it’s 
silly.” 

As they began threading their way through the 
strangely feverish company, Doctor Maury came to¬ 
ward them from the first of the double parlors. He 
moved like a spirit, with a certain stealthy ease. 
As he passed Leila had a lightning glance from his 
strangely green and enigmatic eyes. That instant 
her guide’s bumptiousness evaporated. He seemed 
to diminish, and shrank behind her. ^ 

They went slowly, looking to right and left, and 
crossed the threshold. Of a sudden something drew 
Leila’s eyes as a magnet. Half-a-head above the 
crowd about him, Slayton came toward her, remov¬ 
ing obstacles with uncomprehended murmurs of 
apology. She gained a minute for him by delib- 

293 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


erate inspection in the opposite direction, and only 
turned at the sound of his voice. 

“ This is an unexpected pleasure.” 

u And I,” she answered, “ hardly expected to find 
you here.” 

“ Have you a few minutes for me? ” 

“ I think so—if Mr.”—she turned to the little 
man with the brown derby, “ will excuse me.” 

“ I haven’t told you my secret,” he protested, fret¬ 
ful as a child. 

“ Nor I mine,” said George. “ Won’t you,” ur¬ 
banely—“ give me the right of way for a few min¬ 
utes? You see, I’ve just come.” 

“ Well,” the little man agreed, visibly pleased by 
such deference, “ for just a few minutes I will. 
I’ll be waiting here.” 

They turned away with a nod of thanks. 

“ How did you get here,” she asked, as Slayton 
cleared their path to the hall. 

“ S-sh! ” he warned her. u I’ll explain later. 
Were you brought here as a patient? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ So was I. . . . We’re leaving at once.” 

“ How? ” she whispered. 

Her heart fluttered uncontrollably. 

“ You’ll see.” 

They had reached the hall now, with the stairs 
but a few yards distant. With slight pressure 
upon the hand on his arm there he checked her. 
And she heard him say: 

294 


A DASH IN THE DUSK 

“ Mrs. Slayton, may I present Captain Clifford? ” 

“ Otherwise,” said the captain, as he stepped 
from a corner, “ the ‘ Doctor Blake ’ supposedly re¬ 
sponsible for both of you here.” 

“ But not actually, I trust.” 

“ No. Fact is, I’m here to take you away.” 

“ Then you have our gratitude.” 

Of their little colloquy Slayton was the spectator; 
and thought of the photograph that was the im¬ 
age of Leila’s youth sharpened his scrutiny. But 
their demeanor was impeccable. The simplest 
courtesy on both sides, and appreciation of prof¬ 
fered service on the part of Leila. And yet he 
said: 

“ You know, somehow, for a moment I thought 
you two had met before.” 

The captain bowed w T ith graver courtesy. 

“ It was not my good fortune.” 

Scarlet came to the paleness of Leila’s cheeks. 

“ Of course,” she said, “ I remember seeing the 
captain.” 

Contrition made Slayton brusque. 

“ I think the way is clear,” he observed taking a 
step forward. “ You’d better appear as the escort, 
Captain.” 

No one met them on the stairs. And the lower 
hall seemed empty. As swiftly as possible, while 
avoiding the appearance of a fugitive’s haste, the 
men recovered top-coats and hats from a closet in 
which they had seen them hung. 

295 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“What are you leaving?” Slayton hurriedly 
asked Leila. 

“ Nothing of consequence,” she answered. 

“All right. You’ll have my coat when we get 
outside. Now—quickly.” 

They had taken two, perhaps three steps when a 
woman’s scream rent the air. And there followed 
at once a babel of excited voices above. 

As Slayton, leading, reached for the door a dark 
form rose from the shadowed corner before him, 
barring the way. 

“ What for? ” 

It was the colored doorman. 

“ Get out of the way.” 

The negro braced himself against the door. 

“ Can’t leave, sah, ’thout the doctor’s permis¬ 
sion.” 

With a panther-like motion the captain reached 
him, the small, cold barrel of his revolver pressed 
against a shrinking stomach. 

“ Open the door.” 

That usually gentle voice had the edge of steel 
and the chill of ice. 

“ For de Lawd’s sake! ” 

“ For your sake. Quick! ” 

Footsteps drew nearer above. The trembling 
negro made haste to open the door, and stepped 
aside for them to pass. 

“ You first,” the captain ordered. 

296 


A DASH IN THE DUSK 

“ Have mercy on a poor niggah,” the doorman 
whined. 

For answer the menace of the revolver muzzle, 
pressed hard against his back. 

“All right, Cunnel. Don't be careless like. 
Til go.” 

A moment later they were outside, with the door 
softly closed behind them. 

“Forward, you black trash,” the captain said 
fiercely. And to Slayton: 

“ You go on with Mrs. Slayton. Fll bring up the 
rear.” 

In that order they went on swiftly, and silently, 
save for the negro’s inarticulate whining. There 
was no pursuit. Seemingly, their departure had 
passed unnoted in the excitement of some mishap 
signalled by the scream they had heard. 

Looking back once, Slayton saw figures passing 
hurriedly before second story windows, and thought 
they seemed like attendants rounding up the 
patients. It also came to mind that it was near 
the time appointed for Fritz’s rendezvous with 
Rosie. And he took a firmer grip on the butt of 
his revolver. 

They turned right from the lane, and hurried 
past the little drug-store, dark for the night. As 
they neared the junction of roads the captain found 
and softly blew a whistle. Promptly their chauf¬ 
feur rose from the ground by the wall, briskly 
professional as he tossed away his cigarette. 

297 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Is the car all right? ” asked Slayton. 

“ Sure. She’s right ready.” 

He stepped in, and stooped with deft motions. 
The headlights glowed. The motor hummed. 

“ Right,” said the captain, and swung open the 
door. 

Transferring his revolver to a pocket of his sack 
coat, Slayton extended the warmer garment to 
Leila, with a curt request: “ Put this on.” 

She silently complied. Standing beside the taxi, 
by a gesture he mutely invited her to enter. Now 
he turned to the captain, who punctiliously de¬ 
clined. 

“After you,” he said. “And let me attend to 
this.” 

“ This ” was the cowering negro, whose attitude 
supplicated as the captain’s hand went to his breast 
pocket. It came away with something extended. 

“ Try this, George. It’s not bad.” 

The suppliant accepted a cigar with open- 
mouthed wonder. 

“ And here’s something for your trouble. I’m 
sorry we had to be a little rough.” 

A bank-note passed from the captain’s hand to a 
black one half-incredulously extended. The cap¬ 
tain’s tone was mildly conversational. 

“ Don’t you think,” he asked, “ you might sit 
down on this rock, and smoke the cigar while we 
get a little start. It won’t hurt you any with the 

298 


A DASH IN THE DUSK 


doctor. You can say we carried you away. Don’t 
you think so? ” 

“ Suah, Cunnel.” 

The negro widely smiled. 

“ I guess dis yere’s all right.” 

“ Thank you, George.” 

The captain stepped into the taxi. 

“ Now hustle for the city,” Slayton directed the 
chauffeur. “ We’ll give you further orders later.” 

Two or three minutes of painful alertness for the 
two men watching beside Leila. Then they were 
past the entrance to Skurling, without even the in¬ 
terruption of a hail. And they relaxed, still silent. 
Thus they rode, as the industrious metre ticked off 
miles intervening between country and the glow 
marking New York’s night horizon. 

At length Leila broke the ice with her remark 
sounding, somehow, strained: 

“ I think it’s high time we thanked you.” 

“ And I, you—for the opportunity,” returned the 
captain urbanely. 

“ But how did you find me? ” 

Waiting a moment for Slayton to come in, the 
captain sought to unseal his lips. 

u Let the commander tell you,” he said. “ I’m 
only a helper in the expedition.” 

“ Nonsense.” 

George turned with a hint of impatience from 
scrutiny of the ribbon of road before them. 

u I couldn’t have done it without him. And you 

299 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


may thank him for being found so soon. . . . 

But it’s a longish story. Hadn’t you better rest 
now? ” 

Silence again—almost unbroken. With remarks 
few and trivial, occasional commonplaces of in¬ 
quiry about comfort, and the like, they rode 
through dark suburbs, on into better lighted streets. 
At last they entered the stronghold of fashion, and 
directed their driver to old Jabez Slayton’s door. 
On either side of the broad steps a lion rested with 
lowered head on its paws. Unquestionably 
asleep. 

They went slowly up to ring the bell. Presently 
the great door opened—cautiously. Carlin was 
still up. A little dishevelled, and at first more than 
a little outraged. But his expression changed to 
one expressive of weary pleasure when he beheld 
his mistress. 

“ Thank you,” she said to Carlin. And, “ Thank 
you—so much,” to Slayton, as she stepped into the 
hall. To the captain she gave her hand. His look 
that moment was strangely tender. 

“ I think we may promise what you most want.” 

He said no more. Somewhat abruptly he 
turned away, and followed Slayton to the waiting 
taxi. 

“ Better come with me,” he suggested, and sup¬ 
plemented it as Slayton wavered: “ That is, if I’m 
in on the expedition to Braun’s WTiarf.” 

“ Of course, if you will go.” 

300 


A DASH IN THE DUSK 

u Then we’d better be together for the early 
start.” 

Slayton acquiesced. 

“ That’s true enough. Thanks for the bid. You 
remind me of something to be looked up. With all 
the hustle and excitement since we visited old Cola- 
han I haven’t had time to find out at what hour the 
Cadiz sails.” 

“ It’s advertised in the papers, no doubt. And 
they’ll be at my flat,” the captain observed. He 
stretched his arms with a profound yawn, and 
asked: 

“ Don’t you feel rather petered out? ” 

“ Dog-tired.” 

“A few hours’ sleep will pick us up. And no 
reason I can see why we can’t get them. By this 
time to-morrow Fritz and the woman will be in 
limbo.” 

“ If they hold him without a warrant. Do you 
think,” asked Slayton, u it would be best, after all, 
to take up the matter with police headquarters to¬ 
night? ” 

The captain reflected briefly. 

“ My advice is against it. He might get a tip 
from some friend in the department, and stay away 
from the Cadiz. Then you’d have to hunt him 
again.” 

“ But suppose he is protected at the wharf? ” 

“ Let him be,” said the captain. “ But it’s safe 
to say he has no leave of absence. He is running 

301 


IN THE TENTH MOON 

away from his superiors, too. Take that, with 
the charges of abduction and, let me see—assault, 
with intent to kill, that we have against him. No 
other policeman will dare come out in the open to 
shield him. I count him as ours already.” 

“ Very well, if you feel sure.” 

Each to his own thoughts. And the captain 
whistled softly, over and over a certain vaguely 
familiar strain. It was still on his lips as they 
climbed the stairs to his apartment. Slayton had 
at last identified it as from the overture to 
66 Stradella.” 

“ Suppose you try last night’s lodging again,” 
the captain observed as he opened his door. “ Get 
into a dressing-gown, while I have a look at the 
papers.” 

On his return, a few minutes later, Slayton found 
him pouring a glass of Madeira. 

“ I can’t find the Cadiz ” he said. “ She doesn’t 
seem to be there. Suppose you take a look at the 
advertisements. Perhaps I overlooked her.” 

Slayton pushed aside the monocle resting on an 
opened paper, and made rapid inspection of an¬ 
nouncements of to-morrow’s sailings. 

“ It isn’t there,” he said presently. 

“ Then we’d best call the wharf. No office is 
open at this time of night.” 

The captain picked up the telephone directory, 
and investigated his waistcoat pockets. Then his 
eyes roved to the near-by table. 

302 


A DASH IN THE DUSK 


“ Ah” 

His glass duly installed, he began looking for the 
telephone number. 

“ I’ll call” said Slayton when it was found. 

There was no response, till the operator had been 
urged to repeated ringing. At last a sleepy voice in 
irate question: 

“ Do you think this is an all-night joint? ” 

“I want to know what time the Cadiz sails,” 
Slayton explained pacifically. 

“ Why don’t you ask at a decent time? ” 

“ Sorry. I’ve just decided to sail on her.” 

“ It ought to be eight o’clock.” 

“ You aren’t sure? ” 

“ That’s the regular time.” 

“ Is there no way to make certain? ” 

No answer. His informant had hung up. 

“ Well, if it’s eight,” said the captain, “ we’ll be 
there at seven. Let’s turn in. And sleep your 
prettiest. Patrick will see to it that we wake in 
season. That is one of his reliable qualities. 
Trust him. . . . Good-night.” 

It was Slayton’s last recollection of the day. 
That, and slightly veiled brightness of the tenth 
moon upon his closing eyes. 

The same moon that shone when Frank Slayton’s 
life was suddenly extinguished. A year had passed 
of deep shadow for Leila. Would it soon be lifted? 
The man in the moon looked down, as ever lustrous, 
enigmatic. 


303 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE CLOSE-UP 

Gray light crept in at the window. And silhou¬ 
etted against it the captain stood, laying an insist¬ 
ent hand on Slayton’s shoulder. 

“ Second call,” he said. “ And a dark morning. 
Are you awake now? ” 

As mechanism responds to the turn of a lever 
Slayton’s mind picked up the chain of associations. 

“ I’ll he with you in a few minutes.” 

' He threw back the covers. The captain was 
already in retreat. 

“ All right,” he said over his shoulder. “ Break¬ 
fast together.” 

He lounged with a cigarette between his lips, a 
picture of ease, when Slayton, fresh from a hasty 
toilet, came hurrying in. 

“ Patrick’s compliments.” 

“ What is it? ” 

Slayton looked at the extended glass of amber 
colored liquid. 

“ I don’t know.” The captain tossed away his 
smoke. “ But Patrick is a safe guide in such mat¬ 
ters. Suppose you endorse my judgment. The 
toast you drink! ” 


304 


TEE CLOSE-UP 


To Slayton the mixture’s mellow heat recalled 
once tasted mead. As they turned to breakfast he 
found the morning papers piled beside his plate. 

“ Dry stuff, the press,” observed the captain un¬ 
emotionally. “ I can’t see anything you care for 
there. But I thought you’d like a look.” 

“ Meaning-? ” 

“ Not a word about Fritz, or you, or me, or the 
case. And no mention of the confounded steamer. 
Nothing at all.” 

“ How long have you been up? ” 

With surprise Slayton surveyed his clear eyes 
and unruffled countenance. Under the scrutiny 
dawned a remote smile. 

“ It’s just habit, you know,” he said placidly. 
66 One never sleeps much when he hunts.” 

“ Then I-” George began. 

“ No, my dear fellow,” the captain interrupted 
pleasantly. “ You’re not a born hunter.” 

A slight cough drew attention to Patrick’s face 
framed by the partly opened door. 

u A fine morning, sir.” 

According to his formula, all weather was good. 

“ Yes, Patrick,” the captain assented. “ We'll 
be down in a few minutes.” 

They went through the remainder of breakfast 
with accelerated pace. 

Their top-coats donned, Slayton drew the revolver 
from his pocket, and looked at it doubtfully. 

“ We’re going to meet the police in force,” he 

305 




IN THE TENTH MOON 


said, responsive to the captain’s questioning eye. 
“ There’s the Sullivan law-” 

“ Be damned,” answered the captain briefly. 

Judgment thus rendered, they went down to the 
motor. 

“ Braun’s Wharf,” the captain directed. “ And 
we don’t care how soon we get there.” 

Patrick grinned. His start was praiseworthy, 
but ill-fortune attended. A few blocks down-town 
the way was blocked by a disabled motor truck. 
And before the seriousness of its disability could 
be ascertained the way was filled behind. They sat 
helpless in a trap, while a red-faced officer raged at 
the perspiring driver of the blockading car. 

“ Ever been in Zanzibar? ” inquired the captain, 
as he gazed at a passing organ-grinder, with a grin¬ 
ning monkey perched on his shoulder. 

“A little reminder,” he went on, and plunged into 
a tale of a German trader and an ape. Slayton 
listened, his attention held despite anxiety in vi¬ 
sions of the Cadiz , with Fritz aboard, steaming 
away. The story ended, and the blockade was 
cleared, as the freeing of a key-log releases a river 
jam. 

“ You know we have lost time, Patrick,” the cap¬ 
tain leaned forward to say through the speaking- 
tube. And Patrick, whose only traffic regulation 
was his master’s whim, responded with zeal. 

Thus early in the morning speed later precluded 
by the volume of midday traffic was physically 

306 



THE CLOSE-UP 


possible. Several crossing policemen who sought 
to stop them had no luck. And a mounted officer 
who cantered out to place them under arrest was 
left profanely examining a barked knee of his 
mount. 

Patrick grinned, and drove the faster. Pres¬ 
ently greater congestion of water-front travel com¬ 
pelled some abatement. Still they gained on all in 
their path. 

As a neighboring clock struck the first quarter 
after seven they rolled down the incline of Braun’s 
Wharf. And Slayton and the captain leaped out. 

“ Where is the Cadiz? ” Slayton asked a lounging 
stevedore. 

The man turned a speculative eye on the hori¬ 
zon. 

“ You just can’t see her now,” he said. 

Not pausing to penetrate this cryptic observa¬ 
tion, they hastened in to an office window presided 
over by a spectacled, spruce young man. 

“ What time does the Cadiz sail? ” 

“ Has sailed,” said the clerk placidly. 

“ But last night,” Slayton protested, “ I was told 
she would sail at eight.” 

“ I didn’t tell you so.” 

Then the clerk condescended to explain. 

“ Eight is the usual time. But something, I 
guess, came up in the night. Anyway, there was 
lots of excitement and hustle to get away early this 
morning.” 


307 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


“Well, what are schedules for?” Slayton 
heatedly asked. 

“ That’s it,” the clerk pointed out. “ There ain’t 
any. You see, she’s a freighter that carries some 
passengers. Can go out any darned old time she 
pleases. You wasn’t intending to go on her, was 
you? ” 

Slayton did not answer. He had spotted a 
policeman outside, absent-mindedly twirling his 
club as he gazed at something far down the harbor. 
With the captain at his heels, he hastened out to 
accost him. And he threw strategy to the winds 
with a plump question: 

“ Did Fritz Colahan get away on the Cadiz? ” 

The policeman regarded him suspiciously. 

“ Are you one of his friends? ” 

“ I expected to meet him here,” Slayton answered 
truthfully enough. 

The officer expectorated in the direction of 
Europe. 

“ Yes,” he said as he turned away. “ Fritz is 
aboard with his dame.” 

“ Rotten luck,” observed the captain. 

Otherwise, they walked in silence to the upper 
end of the wharf. Possibilities revolved in Slay¬ 
ton’s mind, but came to no clarified conclusion. 

“ Any suggestion?” he inquired as they entered 
the motor. 

“ Apparently,” the captain answered, “ I have to 
withdraw my advice.” 


308 


TEE CLOSE-UP 


“ That is-” 

44 I said, 4 Don't go to the police. 7 Now I can't 
see any other way." 

44 You mean to get Fritz off the ship." 

44 Too late for that. Extradition when he lands 
is your suit. I'd put the whole case before the com¬ 
missioner. Not a bad old party, I've heard." 

44 1 guess you're right," Slayton assented on brief 
reflection. 44 And there’s no use in delay. If you 
will drop me at headquarters, I'll do it now." 

But a power intervened. Presently Patrick 
stopped abruptly, and a large hand opened the door 
with unceremonious energy. Followed a scowling 
face, and part of a uniformed body. 

44 Are you tired of raising hell all over New 
York? " 

44 Meaning? " the captain queried politely. 

44 That you're pinched for speeding," rasped the 
policeman. 

44 Oh, a summons. Here’s my card." 

The officer disdained the bit of pasteboard. 

44 'Tis to the station house you’ll go," he said 
roughly. 

The captain turned to Slayton. 

44 Sorry I must drop you. The best of luck with 
your mission. Let me hear about it later in the 
day. I'll be in this evening." 

The gray car rolled away, his captor lolling be¬ 
side the captain. Slayton stood a moment irreso¬ 
lute, then hailed a taxi. 


309 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


“ Police headquarters,” he directed, “ and quick.” 

It was not far to go. Soon he mounted the dingy 
steps, and penetrated to the commissioner's outer 
office. Waiting to present his card, he saw the 
door of the citadel open. And a surprise issued 
therefrom. 

Alf and “ Frisky,” with something in their air 
suggesting they were in custody of a third accom¬ 
panying policeman. As they beheld Slayton an 
expression of anxiety was lost in a look of mingled 
surprise and hatred. With a long backward glance 
they vanished. 

Reading Slayton's name, the commissioner's 
secretary seemed to sense something important. 

“ Have a chair,” he said, and hurried into the 
inner office. It was not long to wait. Slayton had 
hardly completed a mental inventory of surround¬ 
ings when he beheld himself beckoned in. 

A door closed softly, and he found himself in the 
presence of a large square-shouldered, blue-eyed 
man, a quiet man, with something at once im¬ 
perative and impersonal in his regard. Barricaded 
behind a broad, flat desk, he leaned a little back in 
his chair, with a card in his hand. 

“ Well, Mr. Slayton, what can I do for you? ” 

A soft voice, leisurely used. 

“ I want to ask a question.” 

“ We are more used to asking questions here than 
answering them,” the commissioner suggested. 
“ But what do you want to know? ” 

310 


THE CLOSE-UP 

u If you will take a man off the Cadiz ” 

“ What man? ” 

“ One of your officers—Fritz Colahan.” 

“ How do you know he is aboard? ” 

u I don’t. But I am told so, and have reason to 
believe it.” 

“ Why should he be stopped? ” 

“ As one of the murderers of my brother, Frank 
Slayton.” 

The commissioner pressed a button. 

“ Sit down, Mr. Slayton,” he requested, and gave 
an order to an entering messenger. 

“ I thought,” he continued, “ you had come with 
another matter. Are you the Mr. Slayton whose 
charge of false arrest Judge Falconer reported, 
with a request for investigation? ” 

“ Yes,” said Slayton. “ That was part of the 
deal to protect the murderers.” 

“ You think so? Well, here is the book.” 

A bulky volume was placed before him. 

“ On what date was your brother killed? ” 

“ About ten o’clock, the evening of October 
23d.” 

After some turning of pages the commissioner 
found what he sought. 

“ The record of headquarters detectives,” he said, 
“ shows that on that evening Colahan was one of a 
squad sent to clean out a Harlem gambling house. 
They left after evening roll-call, and were absent on 
the assignment until nearly midnight. The party 

311 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


remained intact. So it was physically impossible 
for him to commit a crime on upper Fifth Avenue 
that evening. Will you see for yourself? ” 

With his own eyes Slayton beheld the stunning 
truth. He read it again, still half-incredulous. 

“ I felt sure,” he said at length, “ that he was 
guilty.” 

“ Why? ” 

A question like a bullet. 

“ Because I have seen a ring stolen at the time of 
the murder on the finger of the woman he ran away 
with.” 

The commissioner tapped his teeth meditatively. 

“ Now comes the question of fences and thieves. 
I will tell you in confidence that we do want Cola- 
han—on another charge.” 

He hesitated, but went on. 

“ We have uncovered a nest of thieves in the de¬ 
partment. And we’re going to make an example of 
them.” 

His knuckles rapped the desk sharply. 

“ Colahan has an alibi. But I suppose it’s pos¬ 
sible some other officer killed my brother.” 

Slayton clung to a forlorn hope, all that re¬ 
mained of his confident theory. 

“ It’s not impossible.” 

The commissioner frowned. 

“ But I trust you don’t think it probable.” 

“ I suppose not,” Slayton admitted, feeling him¬ 
self put on the defensive. “ But,” he added, u my 

312 


THE CLOSE-UP 

limited personal experience with the police has been 
unfortunate.” 

“ So it seems.” 

The commissioner leaned forward, emphasizing 
his argument with a sharp tapping of his pencil on 
the desk. 

“ Only think of this. The lives, the property of 
every citizen are daily in the care of the police 
force. What happens the hour their guard is re¬ 
laxed you know by the experience of Boston, of 
Liverpool, of any large city that has suddenly been 
exposed to waives of the underworld. The criminal 
gentry know their worth better than you or any 
other man taking security of purse and person as a 
natural condition.” 

“ I didn’t mean to roast the force in general,” 
said Slayton apologetically. 

“ I thought not.” 

The commissioner leaned back. 

“ The great majority of my men are brave and 
honest, and loyal to duty. They resent the crook¬ 
edness of scamps like Fritz even more than you do. 
For in a way it bespatters their own reputation. 
Far from blocking, as I gather you’d expect, they 
will do their level best to help clean out a nest of 
rascals that somehow slipped into their uni¬ 
form.” 

“ Please believe me-” Slayton began, feeling 

something expected of him. But the commissioner 
went on: 


313 



IN THE TENTH MOON 


“The trail will be followed, wherever it runs. 
As to your own case, the seeming injustice of false 
arrest will be my personal charge. And if a new 
lead opens in the matter of your brother’s death, 
there will be no standing pat on the conviction al¬ 
ready secured. ... Is that satisfactory to 
you? ” 

“ Thank you,” said Slayton, and rose to go. 

In despondent mood he proceeded to the club, and 
straight to his room. There at length, but inef¬ 
fectually, he pondered the situation. Through Alf 
and “ Frisky ” to Fritz, and the stolen ring. With 
conversations overheard his feeling they were all 
somehow involved in his brother’s death still 
amounted to conviction. 

But how to establish it? A second start with the 
tangled skein must now await the forced return of 
Fritz from South America. That would only be 
to face a charge of theft. On the major issue he 
would still have to go alone, with such assistance 
as the captain might lend. Or private detectives, 
if he turned to them. 

Meantime the court calendar held an assign¬ 
ment of Leila’s second trial. Between luncheon 
and the somewhat perfunctory process of dinner he 
more than once looked longingly at the telephone. 
He was eager to talk with her. Yet dreaded it, 
doubting if even at the other end of the wire he 
could hide from her the collapse of his campaign 
so confidently undertaken to establish her inno- 

314 


THE CLOSE-UP 


cence. She must know soon. But not yet, while a 
shred of hope adhered. 

The captain. Ah, that was different. He turned 
to that paragon of optimism with a feeling of illog¬ 
ical relief. 

The number given, he listened at the telephone, 
and heard the ringing. No immediate response. 
But after the second summons out of the dark¬ 
ness came the captain’s voice, characteristically 
casual: 

“ Yes. What’s wanted?” 

“ It’s Slayton. How did you fare? ” 

“I? Oh, a little matter of bail. Nothing to 
worry about. How did you come out? ” 

“ It couldn’t have been much worse. Fritz has 
an alibi.” 

“ The deuce he has ! 99 

Slayton heard the captain softly whistle. 

“ Can you give it to me,” he asked presently, “ in 
a few words ? 99 

“ Yes. Department records show that the even¬ 
ing Frank was killed he went in a squad to raid a 
gambling den in Harlem. The job lasted until 
nearly midnight. He wasn’t near Fifth Avenue.” 

“ Well, that’s a blow.” 

After brief cogitation the captain resumed: 

“ How about the ring then? Were you mistaken 
about that? ” 

“No. There’s the forlorn hope. I have a tip 
from the commissioner that Fritz is suspected of 

315 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


being one of a police gang in cahoots with thieves. 
The only trail in sight leads back that way.” 

“ A scurvy prospect, isn’t it? ” 

What he might have uttered was checked on 
Slayton’s lips by a strange feeling of suspension. 
An impression that the captain, though silent, held 
the stage, wishing to speak. 

“What time is set for Mrs. Slayton’s second 
trial? ” he asked presently. 

“ About the middle of next month.” 

Slayton heard the tapping of a finger-nail. 

“ That’s bad, isn’t it? You could hardly get at 
this new lead.” 

“ It’s a poor prospect.” 

More tapping, ending staccato. 

“ Well, there’s a way out of everything. At 
least, I’ve found it so.” 

A measure of confidence had returned to the 
captain’s voice. 

“ My dear fellow,” he went on, “ is it asking too 
much if I put you to the bother of ringing me again 
this evening? ” 

“ Of course not,” said Slayton. 

“ Then say ten o’clock, or thereabouts. An idea 
has come to me, and I’d like a little time to mull it 
over. It might help you out of your hole.” 

“ Let’s hope so. Till ten, then.” 

As Slayton hung up he glanced at his watch. A 
trifle after nine. He picked up a book, and almost 
immediately put it down. No mood to read. Nov 

316 


THE CLOSE-VP 


yet to think, with a start on the only problem he 
could keep in mind locked in the captain’s brain. 

He took refuge in solitaire. And the bank piled 
up great imaginary winnings. . . . Ten o’clock 
at last. With fearful eagerness he stepped to the 
telephone. The captain answered promptly. 

“ Is that you, Slayton? ” 

" Yes. What’s-” 

“You were going to say, 'What’s the word.’ I 
can’t give it to you now. Can you come down here 
to-morrow morning about ten? ” 

" Surelv.” 

«/ 

u All right. I think I can promise you rather 
good news.” 

"Nothing now?” 

Slayton could not resist the question. 

" No. Not now. Give me time to ripen it.” 

“ It’s nothing I can help on? ” 

"Not a bit. All you can do to-night is go to 
sleep. Come fresh in the morning. Good-night. 
And good hunting, always.” 

" Good-night to you. And thanks.” 

As he spoke it was Slayton’s feeling that the cap¬ 
tain had already hung up. What had he in mind 
to impart that tone of confidence? Had something 
come to his attention between forenoon and sun¬ 
set? Where had he been to have the Slayton case 
in any way touch him? 

George went out to the street, and for two hours 
walked vigorously. And he came back without the 

317 



IN TEE TENTH MOON 


faintest clue in mind. He liad gleaned, however, 
the inertia of muscular fatigue. Of late sought 
studiously, sleep took him almost immediately, 
when he had composed himself in bed. He went 
down to unconsciousness as the drowning man 
makes his last serene exit beneath the waves. 

He woke to sunlight slipping past the drawn 
curtains. And the hum of day’s resumed activities 
came from below faintly to his ears. A hasty glance 
at his watch. Eight-thirty. Throwing back the 
covers, he went briskly to his bath. No time to 
lose. 

By some readjustment,—sleep’s healing, plus 
hope, the world’s face had brightened. What the 
captain had discovered was a mystery he gave up. 
But his mere assurance inspired hope. 

In the ride down-town random conjectures per¬ 
sisted. But they came to nothing. At the curb 
in front of the captain’s apartment Patrick was ex¬ 
amining his beloved car. He looked up with a grin 
of welcome as Slayton stepped from his cab. 

“ Yes, sir. I think the captain is expecting you, 
sir. Would you go right up? The captain told me 
to leave the catch down.” 

Slayton climbed to the third floor. It was rather 
dark in the hall. But the captain’s bell was just 
at the head of the stairs. He rang, and waited a 
minute. No response. Then he remembered Pat¬ 
rick’s suggestion regarding the lock, and entered. 

The same room in which he had his first conversa- 

318 



THE CLOSE-UP 


tion with the captain. He looked about curiously, 
as one finding himself in a slightly known place 
alone. A hat and coat presumably worn earlier in 
the morning were dropped on a chair. 

A clock on the mantel chimed in the stillness,— 
unheeded. Slayton’s eyes were on the table that 
stood in the centre of the room, laden with various 
things; on a photograph that stood propped 
against the base of a lamp. That remembered face 
before which his heart had seemed to stop its beat¬ 
ing. So like Leila, as she must have been before 
there came to her the wisdom of pain. 

And beside it—what? He drew nearer. A 
square white envelope bearing his name. He took 
it up, to read again the superscription in the cap¬ 
tain’s fine precise hand. 

The envelope was unsealed. Yet he delayed 
opening it, each instant anticipating the captain’s 
return. At length he drew forth the enclosure, 
quite voluminous and closely written, and read it. 
Slowly, for almost he distrusted his eyes: 

“Dear Slayton: 

“ This seems the best I can do for you. 
And, all things considered, I do not think you will 
judge me harshly for failing to do it sooner. Of 
course, I never meant to let Mrs. Slayton suffer a 
penalty of the law for her husband’s death. For 
mental anguish she has endured I am more than 
sorry. It happened things got rather out of hand. 
And I see no chance to make the cards run well for 
me as matters stand. 


319 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


u Now it seems best for me to admit that I shot 
Frank Slayton. It was unpremeditated. The re¬ 
sult of opportunity, and sudden impulse. But 111 
not deny it gave me lasting satisfaction. The wish 
for his removal was long in mind. 

“ The night it happened I passed your father's 
house several times. Now and then I had yielded 
to the impulse to do so. Because Leila Slayton, 
whom I knew by sight alone, was so like her dead 
sister, Constance. And Constance is the woman I 
am unable to forget. I hated Frank,—as I hate him 
still, for coming between us. 

“ I am called a cold man. The truth is, I am only 
self-contained. And that with men of my own 
race. Naturally passionate, as a boy I was undis¬ 
ciplined. And I was guilty of a wrong so grievous 
it persisted in memory, a check on hot impulse. 
Even so there are affairs in my relations with 
savage races it will be good utterly to forget. And 
faces that were fair emerge from the past, so that I 
wonder how, if ever, they will greet me again. 

“ But I seem to apologize where I proposed only 
to explain. Other women I have loved, and had 
their favor. But the memory of Constance has 
been unending pain. And the keenness of that 
pang, Slayton, nourished hatred of your brother I 
never felt for any other man. 

“ She was so like Leila, the sister I know you 
love. But to me more beautiful; unforgettable be¬ 
cause never possessed. It may be that, much older 
as I was, time would not have served me. Still 
Frank, young and adroit in the siege of woman, as 
you well know, came between us when I fancied she 
had softened toward me. 

“It was at a little place in the Scottish lake 

320 


TEE CLOSE-UP 


region, one summer before the war. Not a house 
party. We were domiciled under three roofs. The 
village vicar assembled the triangle. A situation 
presently dramatic. Constance could not distin¬ 
guish between attentions paid her. Nor did I re¬ 
alize that where I was desperately earnest Frank 
felt only the competitive interest of a game. At 
least, that seems a fair assumption. 

“ She refused me gently. And when I, presump¬ 
tuously, pressed for a reason I realized without 
direct admission that Frank was the favored man. 
Then he suddenly departed. Without proposing, 
I knew. Much as she strove to hide it, I saw her 
wonder and sorrow. Soon she, too, went away 
from the one guessing her secret. A few months 
later she died. Death of fever, they called it. But 
I always have felt Frank killed her. And robbed 
me. 

“ That is the story Leila cannot know. For, 
knowing it, she could not have married him. As 
to him, no doubt the fact he was betraying you, and 
taking the younger sister of a girl whose heart he 
had broken, was a fillip in marriage. In my con¬ 
siderable acquaintance with the world he is one 
of the few to qualify as a moral monster. I have 
never for a second regretted his removal. 

“ The night it happened I passed the house once, 
seeing no one. The second time I saw two men of 
nondescript appearance in conversation with a 
policeman on the neighboring corner. The third 
time I approached from the other side, just as the 
pair I remembered turned sharply in from the 
street to a passage between your father’s house and 
one next door. 

“ Their manner was furtive. Something moved 

321 


IN THE TENTH MOON 


me to investigate, after I had gone on a bit. There 
was no policeman in sight. From what I saw, and 
later heard, I judge he was purposely elsewhere. 
But his behavior has no bearing on what I am tell¬ 
ing here. 

“ I found the passage empty. But an open first 
story window tempted me in. I yielded. You, 
Slayton, were asleep in a chair by the library table. 
I passed you easily, and went on up the stairs. The 
thing was ridiculously easy. And absolutely 
foolish, one might say. At that moment I was a 
house-breaker with no purpose in mind. 

“ When half-way up the flight extinguishment of 
lights in the hall above gave me pause. I listened, 
and heard faint murmurs of voices. It was pitch 
dark when I reached the top of the stairs. But I 
saw faint brightness in a doorway near by. With 
a few steps the door-knob was under my hand. Ap¬ 
parently from some room, the voices seemed nearer 
now. I pushed the door open a little—noiselessly— 
and stepped in. 

“ It may have been Fate guiding me. Back to 
me, and a few feet distant, Frank Slayton stood 
listening. He, too, had heard sounds. But he 
never suspected my presence, And no other per¬ 
son heard, or saw me. I used a silencer for pistols 
not on the market. 

“ The impulse to fire was as irresistible as if I 
had come for no other purpose. I would as 
readily have put an end to some deadly snake. He 
did not move after he fell. I think my shot ex¬ 
tinguished consciousness instantly. 

“ I dropped the revolver beside the body, and 
went out. The hall was still dark; apparently, 
empty. I left the house by the front door, noting 

322 



THE CLOSE-UP 


you were still asleep in tlie library. What I did 
not note at the time was the loss of my eye-glass. 
Later I got that back when you carelessly put it 
down on my table, and I more carelessly took it up 
and used it. By all the rules of the game, as novel¬ 
ists and criminologists lay them down, that should 
have resulted in my undoing. 

“ But you missed the chance, being too much 
a gentleman, my dear fellow, to be a good detective. 
Another clue, you missed the day I made a foolish 
remark about the pistol with which Frank was 
killed. With a more suspicious nature it would 
have occurred to you that one whose knowledge of 
the Slayton case commenced with service as a juror 
in the trial could not have known something found 
by the police, but not testified to. 

u Nobody said on the stand that the revolver was 
of a French make. Its mate you will find in my 
despatch box, with the eye-glass you had and lost. 
Tactically, leaving the revolver was a mistake. I 
thought the burglars would take it away. And the 
matter of increased criminal responsibility for them 
seemed of small consequence. Their shrewdness 
in placing the weapon in Mrs. Slayton’s dresser 
gave the case its unexpected turn. 

“ From the first I meant to save her. Naturally, 
I preferred also to keep my own life. Service as a 
juror seemed a happy chance. I lost there through 
the obstinacy of stupid men. 

“ Let me say here, and will you interest yourself 
on his behalf?—that Abraham Hurwicz deserves 
clemency. He allowed a process server’s mistake 
to stand at my request. Once he was my man on 
an African expedition, And I found him always 
honest and faithful. But I had to expose him to 
give Mrs. Slayton another chance. 

323 


IN THE TEETH MOON 


“Your clue pointing to tlie man Fritz seemed 
promising. He is evidently a rascal who might 
well serve to satisfy the law. I trust this avowal 
will not shock you much. Keep in mind the fact 
that I have lived in places where the strong man’s 
will is law. That is the righteousness of nature. 

“ Fritz now appears to have his alibi. And the 
prospect of connecting thieves I so nearly grazed 
that night is—too remote. As a sportsman, there 
remain two things for me to do: To confess, which 
I have done to you. And to make my last exit; 
that I am about to do. 

“ I have seen much of life. In the aggregate it 
is remembered with pleasure. Thus I am less dis¬ 
posed to live as a fugitive. And I am by no means 
disposed to offer myself to the hangman. 

“ The great charm of existence to me has been 
its unexpectedness. I pray you do not think of 
me as turning in despair to the greatest adventure 
of all. Who knows? 

“ I send you the long greeting as I turn west. 

“ Thomas Clifford.” 

There was something mesmeric in the firm signa:- 
ture. Slayton could not turn from it. Until 
Patrick spoke behind him: 

“ Excuse me, sir. Could you tell what is wrong 
with the captain? ” 

He followed the agitated servant into the adjoin¬ 
ing room. In a big chair by a window Captain 
Clifford reclined, wrapped in his purple dressing- 
gown. He seemed to sleep. 

“He doesn’t answer, sir,” said Patrick. 

The right arm rested, so that the hand seemed 

324 


THE CLOSE-UP 


extended in welcome. Slayton touched the wrist'. 
Still warm, but pulseless. As he stooped the half¬ 
open eyes seemed to regard him with a friendly 
look, and that familiar half-ironic gleam. To his 
nostrils came an odor like that of almonds from a 
little phial on the floor. 

“ What is it? ” 

It was Leila’s voice from the doorway. 

“ You here! ” 

Slayton beheld her with astonishment. 

“ Captain Clifford sent a note asking me to 
come,” she explained. u He said he had something 
to tell me. And you would be here. What is it, 
please? ” 

She took from his hand the extended letter. 

u The captain,” he said, “ has told us all.” 


THE END 


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BINDERY INC. 


JAN 86 


N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 



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